


The Witch Who Wept for the Heretic

by OurLadyMuffin



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Family, Hate to Love, Illnesses, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLadyMuffin/pseuds/OurLadyMuffin
Summary: He isn’t sure where he is anymore - washed up on the pebbled shores of a river? Or slumped against a grimy brick wall on a dusty stone floor? Is the sky steel or moonlit black? He’s met this woman. He’s never seen her in his life.But as her fingers - warm and sweet - cradle his cheek, a word slips from his blood stained lips.“...Tifa…”Tifa is a witch in secret. Cloud hunts witches. They've never met each other before and yet, it's like they've already known one another for a lifetime.[Rating may rise in future chapters.]
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 133
Kudos: 256





	1. Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a couple people I'd like to thank for this foray into the terrifying waters of _multi-chaptered pieces_. 
> 
> Thanks to [PotatoVanGogh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PotatoVanGogh/) for the initial idea and inspiration! Sorry it's taken...literal months for anything to come of that. :') 
> 
> Also big thanks to [mayelisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayelisa) for basically sponsoring this fic! She has rescued this from the cusp of falling into the Fic Graveyard, Never to be Heard From Again. She's also a wonderful beta and author herself, so definitely worth checking out her work!
> 
> That's it! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and the road ahead! :) Also - rating subject to change in future chapters! >:)

The sky that greets him is streaked with red. 

He squints. Is the sky red, or is it something else smeared across his eyes that’s red? No, he thinks, it must be the sky. Clouds hang against a red-gold backdrop in streaks that catch purple and blue shadows. It’s a gorgeous sight.

Unfortunately, it’s not the only thing he wakes up to. 

This fact flashes to the forefront of his addled mind in the form of pain. A sharp lance of it, right in his chest - between his ribs. It whips clarity back to his senses. His clothes cling to him, water laps at his back. Everything is cold. Except for that brilliant prick of pain in his chest - that one  _ burns _ , heat leaking down, soaking into his drenched clothing and radiating outwards. 

Kind of like how the sun’s rays stretch out from behind the tree tops that line his vision. Shafts of light catching on streaky clouds.

Cloud blinks, but finds that he can’t lift his lids again.

All he has is the sound of the river. The chill soaks deeper into his bones. Everything else spills from his chest. 

He thinks he’s starting to forget how to hear things when the crunch of pebbles pulls at the last vestiges of his mind. Cloud doesn’t move. He can’t, even if he wanted to. He just listens. The crunching is closer. Louder. He focuses on it like he’s clinging to the last threads of something. He listens until the scrape of rock on rock starts to grate on his ears. 

When it stops, Cloud tries to open his eyes.

The sky is metal now. White, incandescent lights flare at the corners of his vision. Is he still laying down? Sitting up? His head is heavy. He hears the hiss of something behind him, it’s a sound that he doesn’t recognize. Metal grinding on metal, somewhere in the distance. The smell of smoke and coal. Mostly, his attention is focused on the woman bent over him. Her brows are furrowed with worry, lips pressed into a slight frown. She’s wearing a white tank top, dark hair flowing over exposed shoulders, a gloved hand reaching out to him.

She’s saying something. He picks up the ghost of an ‘are you alright?’. A dog barks.

His vision shifts like sand slipping through a crack. Suddenly, the woman’s hand is no longer gloved. Suddenly, she’s wrapped in a dark cloak, the hood pulled over her head. There’s no longer glaring white light blinding the corners of his eyes. No metal sky. Instead, what’s above is lit only by a crescent moon that dangles in its inky depths. 

There is one constant, however. 

Eyes like a hearth. Steady even as his mind swirls. He isn’t sure where he is anymore - washed up on the pebbled shores of a river? Or slumped against a grimy brick wall on a dusty stone floor? Is the sky steel or moonlit black? He’s met this woman. He’s never seen her in his life.

But as her fingers - warm and sweet - cradle his cheek, a word slips from his blood stained lips. 

“...Tifa…”

* * *

Cloud thinks he’s dead.

Then he realizes he can’t think that he’s dead, if he’s actually dead.

But consciousness evades him like a fish in his hands. When it slithers in, he finds himself some place that fills his blurry vision with a warm orange glow. He scents spices in the air - something sticky on his chest, something soft beneath his head. And then it slips away again, and he’s dragged back into the dark. 

The next time Cloud claws his way back to the world, he hears voices beside him.

“Tifa, I think he’s awake.” A girl who sounds quite young. Something damp and cool that rubs gingerly over his forehead.

“Don’t wake him up, Marlene.” This one has a voice like honey. It’s not one he’s heard before, but it’s one that strikes something deep and familiar. “He needs to rest; just finish up now.”

“Okay.” The cold rag drags down his temple and over his cheek. Small fingertips brush hair off his slick forehead. “Get better soon, mister stranger.” These words are whispered like a secret - so soft he isn’t sure if he heard it, or dreamt it. 

Either way, he’s gone again. 

It’s pain that finally slaps him fully awake. 

He hisses, instinctively swatting away the source of the pain - whatever it is, he doesn’t care. It’s like someone is driving something into his chest, singing nerves he didn’t know he had. He shoots up in bed, but doesn’t make it very far before something firm catches his shoulders. Cloud opens his eyes but his world spins with pain and confusion. He looks up, his gaze snapping to carmine eyes and, suddenly, things steady. 

“Woah, woah,” she’s speaking with that same voice he recognizes dimly. “You need to stay down.” Her hands are warm against his shoulders. He’s not wearing a shirt. They’re in someone’s home. He can see a kitchen with brick walls tucked in the back, a smouldering fire, pots and pans hanging from hooks. Beside the fireplace, there’s a wall of wooden shelves that’s filled with glass containers and small boxes - colourful and wholly unrecognizable to him. A wooden dining table sits beside that - not very big, adorned with a small clay vase that’s near overfilled with flowers. Dried plants of all sorts, bundled in neat bunches, hang from string that stretches in front of the kitchen. Wooden beams prop up the ceiling, with arcs overhead, dull clay between each slat. 

Cloud lets himself be pushed back down, “Who...are you?” His voice is barely more than a husk. He tries to clear his throat, but the motion sends fire exploding out his chest. 

The woman gives him a look, “You don’t know?”

“Why would I?” He croaks.

“You said my name when I found you,” she explains, turning to pick up a heavy looking stone bowl off the wooden table beside her. There’s a rag there too, dirtied with something dark and green. The woman picks up a spoon from inside the stone bowl, scooping up a heaping bunch of some pale green paste. “Don’t move.” She says, reaching over and gently dolloping the bitter smelling concoction onto his chest. 

He grits his teeth through a pierce of pain, eyes slamming shut. He tries to ball up his fists, but the most he manages is a weak twitch of his fingers. Through the pain pounding in his head, he realizes that the rest of him feels heavy and limp. He can feel every push and prod of the sticky substance the woman is applying to his wound. 

Instead of focusing on that, he closes his eyes - tries to get his thoughts in order. 

Except he can’t. He remembers reading a posting tipping off a witch living in some quiet village in the country. He’d gone there to take care of it - to rid the village of this menace. But things start to blur from there on. There’d been fire and shouting. Running through a dark wood, heart screaming in his ears. And then...he’d woken up to a red streaked sky, and a woman with eyes like a hearth, who he knew and didn’t know.

He cracks his eyes open, and sees the same woman leaned over him, lips set in concentration. 

“Y...Your name’s Tifa,” he says, and is too delirious with pain and exhaustion to see the way her movements pause, or the way her shoulders tense. 

“How did you know?” She asks, hand hovering over him, unmoving. But Cloud’s head is starting to spin harder and harder. His eyes roll back, lids falling shut. He thinks he can hear distant voices, the sound of music playing, glasses clinking - the familiar cadence of an alehouse. But it’s muffled, like he hears it through several walls. 

“A feeling,” he murmurs. 

She brushes hair off his forehead, then lays a palm across it. He sinks into her touch, which soothes an ache he didn’t know he had. The darkness that envelops him next is softer.

“Rest,” she says.

_ Cloud _ . His name, so muffled that he isn't sure if he heard it, or dreamt it. 

* * *

Tifa watches the strange man drop back into unconsciousness. She pulls her hand back and sighs. It’d been nearly a week since she’d found him, washed up like an abandoned doll on the river bank. His clothing had been singed, a hole punched through the oily black leather armour he wore. Prone on his back, bleeding out and burning up at the same time. She’d been wondering if she needed to consider giving the poor sap some sort of a funeral when he’d opened his eyes. 

There were very few people in her life who Tifa would consider close enough to be familiar. But she’d met his gaze and something about it had sunk into her core and strummed something deep. Before she could make sense of it all, he’d spoken her name and suddenly she wasn’t standing by the river side anymore. 

In his voice, she’d heard her name called, cried, murmured, and whispered - all at once. A place with metal buildings that towered overhead and covered the skies. An eerie green glow that filled the nights. Bustling streets and people in unfamiliar clothing. A creaking tavern with hot lights and soft music.

Linen blond hair and eyes like a starlit night. 

Tifa had ended up hauling the dying man home. Together with Marlene, they’d fashioned an old bench into a makeshift bed beneath the windows of the front hall. Tifa had loaned the man her pillow while Marlene dug up an old, patchy blanket from the boxes beneath their bed. Then, while Marlene slept, Tifa had worked to remove the man’s armour to assess the damage. 

It looked like he’d been pierced in the chest by a sword. The wound was clean - deep enough to be worrying, but not deep enough to have killed him right away. But he’d have died from blood loss if she hadn’t found him though. 

Over the next few days, Tifa tended to the man. She brewed and fed him potions to keep his energy up. She stitched up his wound, and put together a paste to speed the recovery. She cleaned the dirt and grime and dried blood off his skin. Why? It was hard to say. It would have been easier to let him die. It probably would have been safer too. Cheaper.

As Tifa straightens up after watching the man pass out again, her eyes slide over to the pile of gear set off to the side. His sword is propped against the wall beside the front door, black armour in a pile, a small pouch of belongings on top of that. There’d been a metal badge amongst his belongings. The Kingdom of Shinra’s coat of arms had been engraved on it. Beside that, a simple symbol: a pair of crossed swords surrounded by a ring of fire depicted by flourishes that flare and coil around the blades. The mark of a witch hunter.

Beneath that:  _ Cloud Strife. _

She still hasn’t made sense of that strange vision she’d had on the river bank. Frankly, she’s too afraid to try and understand it. Even as someone who deals with magic, there are some things that she would rather not know about. Things that are beyond time and comprehension are better left untouched. 

Gathering up her things, Tifa glances at the sleeping man again. It’s a risk to keep him here. Even if her home may pass as a regular apothecary, and even if she’s careful about when she uses her magic, she’s sure that a witch hunter would have a sharp enough eye to notice things. But as much as she wants to let fate have its way with him, she can’t bring herself to throw him out. 

She can handle herself. She just has to make sure to protect Marlene too.

Turning, she sees the young girl peeking in through the backdoor. Their cottage in the woods isn’t very big. It’s mainly one big room, with a front door, a back door, and one more door leading to the bathroom that’s attached to the side of the building. There aren’t many places to hide.

Tifa smiles, “All done picking?” She asks, toting the stone bowl and dirtied rag over towards the sink by the kitchen, which is really just a tall bucket tucked beneath a metal hand pump. 

“Mhm,” Marlene wanders into the cottage, eyeing the sleeping man for a bit, before turning back to Tifa. She’s dressed in a blue pinstripe dress and an off-white apron up front (which, presently, is stained with dirt and purplish smears). Her dark hair is tied into twin braids that rest against her collar, bangs sweeping her forehead. Tucked in the crook of her elbow in an old reed basket that’s halfway full of blackberries. “I only got scratched a little bit this time,” she says, stepping over to the kitchen area to show Tifa her right hand. 

Setting everything into the sink, Tifa wipes her hands off on her own apron before turning to consider the young girl’s wounds. She frowns, dropping down to a crouch as she takes Marlene’s hand. Scratches speckle the backs of her hand, her wrists, and down her forearm. Thankfully, at least, the scratches are as superficial as they come.

“Marlene, I thought I told you to only pick the ones on the outside?” Tifa scolds gently, “Blackberry bushes have lots of thorns - you could have hurt yourself really badly.” 

“But the good ones were all inside,” Marlene protests, watching as Tifa lifts her hand up and kisses each one of the scratches. By time she’s gone through it all, the scratches have all closed up, and her arm is back to normal. “Besides, you’ll always fix me up!”

Tifa meets Marlene’s smile with a raised brow. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you should be careless,” she says, but before she can say much else, Tifa’s expression flickers when Marlene starts to cough. It’s the kind that shakes through the girl’s body and sounds as painful as it feels. Tifa can do little more than take the basket for blackberries from Marlene, so that the girl can reach both hands up to cup over her mouth. 

Each cough makes Tifa’s chest wrench. It takes a minute before it starts to slow. Beside them, the basket of blackberries moves on its own. Slipping out of Tifa’s hand, it drifts up and sets itself down on the counter. Meanwhile, a glass of water that had been sitting on the counter floats down towards the young girl. Marlene takes the glass out of the air without looking, and takes a careful sip.

Tifa watches warily. Suddenly, the young girl looks years older than she’d been when she stepped in through the door. The coughing always saps so much of her energy.

“Doing okay?” Tifa asks, taking the emptied glass from Marlene with her hand. Of course, Marlene nods, and wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? I’ll get dinner started, and then it’ll be time for your medicine. Sounds good?”

“Sounds good,” Marlene replies, then coughs again. She swallows, taking a careful breath as her eyes flicker behind Tifa, to the man stretched out on the bench by the front door. ”Did you fix up your friend too?” 

Tifa blinks, “My friend?”

“Isn’t he your friend?” Marlene looks back at Tifa, confusion shining in doe-brown eyes. “I heard him say your name. And you called him something too, right? Um-” she furrows her brow, coughs a bit, “-Cloud, or something? So I thought you must have known each other.” 

Tifa isn’t sure what to tell the girl. Mostly because she didn’t really know what was going on herself. “He isn’t a friend,” she tries for a smile, “Just because we know each other’s names doesn’t mean we’re friends.” 

Regret pangs Tifa’s chest as she sees Marlene’s expression drop. “Oh,” she says, glancing over at Cloud again, before looking down at the ground. “This ‘friends’ stuff is hard, huh?”

Tifa feels her heart crack a little more, but she manages a smile, “Oh, it’s not so bad, Marlene. As soon as you get better, I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends,” she says as lightly as she can. Reaching up, she cradles Marlene’s cheek, gently tilting the girl’s head up to face her. “For now, you should go get washed up. The blackberries you picked look so juicy, how does a cobbler for dessert sound?” 

Marlene hesitates a second, but eventually nods and smiles, “Can I help?” 

“When you’re not so stinky.” Tifa says, crinkling a nose and feeling her chest warm when Marlene giggles. She gives the girl a gentle pat on the cheek, “Alright, let’s go now. I’ve already warmed some water for you.”

Marlene whirls around, and Tifa watches as the young girl heads over to grab her pyjamas from the drawer beside the bed, before heading over to the bathroom. Tifa waits for the bathroom door to close before she sighs. There will come a day where the prospect of blackberry cobbler alone won’t be enough to lift Marlene’s spirits. Hopefully, Tifa will have found a cure before then.

Pushing back up, Tifa glances back at Cloud, who is still unconscious on the bench. She leaves him be, and sets about preparing dinner. 

The rest of the afternoon passes almost as if there isn’t an unconscious witch hunter in the front hall. Tifa prepares a simple dinner of a vegetable and mushroom stew, along with bread. Marlene helps with the blackberry cobbler, giggling when Tifa smudges her cheek with flour and chides her for eating the blackberries. But it isn’t long before the cobbler is done, and the pair settles down for the night. 

As usual, dinner is a quiet, but no less cheery, affair. Tifa is glad to see that Marlene’s appetite is still strong. The girl finishes her stew, and her bread, and finally gets a generous helping of their blackberry cobbler - still warm from the oven. When all is said as done, Marlene helps to tote the dishes into the sink while Tifa prepares a mug of the young girl’s medication. 

It consists of a mug of boiling water, with a few drops of a pale white potion she’d made earlier in the week, along with some herbs that steep in the steaming liquid. It’s been a month since she’s come up with this particular concoction and, so far, it seems to be helping. Marlene’s more energetic this time, compared to the last. She doesn’t cough and hack through the night as much, and seems to be sleeping better. 

Of course, Tifa also knows that this only alleviates the poor girls’ symptoms. It’s still far, far from a cure. 

For now, Marlene takes her medicine and it isn’t long after that for the sleep inducing effects to take hold. They step over to the bed in the corner of the room opposite from the front hall. There’s only one bed that they share. Marlene curls up under the covers. Tifa stays on top of it, hand resting on the girl’s side.

“G’night, Tifa…” Marlene murmurs, words sticky with sleep, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Tifa rubs her hand down over Marlene’s back, then back up to her side. “Tomorrow will be better.” 

Marlene gives a single, small cough.

Tifa waits until Marlene is properly asleep, the cadence of her breath blessedly even and steady. Once she’s satisfied with that, Tifa pushes up and heads off to get washed up herself. She’s wary of leaving Marlene alone with the unconscious man, so Tifa doesn’t take long. Once she’s done, she steps out in only a long, white chemise. It’s a hot summer night, so she’s grateful for the thin fabric and the breeze that skims exposed shoulders and shins. 

Returning to the sink, she finishes with cleaning up. By the time she’s done, it’s dark enough that she has to light a candle or two. She does this without looking - simply wills the few candles situated around the kitchen and dining area to flare up with light. The cottage is awash in a quiet glow as Tifa dries her hands.

There’s still the matter of the man on the bench. It’s been some time since she’s fed him an elixir to keep his energy up, and seeing as he isn’t conscious enough for food, he’s going to need the boost soon. Glancing back over towards the man in question, Tifa watches him a moment. He hasn’t moved. It doesn’t look like he’s going to move either.

Tifa grabs her mortar and pestle, setting it down on the dining table gently to avoid making too much noise. She turns after that, stepping over towards the wall beside the kitchen that’s just a wooden shelf stocked full of various vials and jars. At the bottom of it, a long series of leather bound books stand, their covers and spine worn from use. She picks one out and flips it open. 

Tifa doesn’t usually brew elixirs for energy.

The village folk don’t need to know about it. She’s happy to provide simple medicines and cures, but anything beyond that risks outing herself as a witch. Tifa’s content being the recluse apothecary whose medicines work wonders - she doesn’t need to give them any reasons to suspect otherwise.

Even if she knows something like this will earn her a lot of money, Marlene’s safety comes first. There’s not telling what would happen if anyone in town finds out about her capabilities, no matter how kind they might seem.

For a second, she can feel a furious heat licking at her face. A fire that sets the night aglow. Screams and metal screech.

The candles around her flicker.

Tifa forces herself to focus on the task at hand. The recipe is laid out in worn, yellowed pages. It’s not her handwriting, but it’s one that she knows as well as her own. She lifts a hand, finger tracing the ink as she lists the ingredients in a whisper under her breath. 

Around her, the jars start to shift. Glass scrapes murmurs against wood as they move out of the way, and then drop off the shelf entirely. They plummet only for a beat, before an unseen force pushes them up again. Riding an invisible wind, they float through the air, carrying themselves over to the wooden dining table. Cork lids uncap with a soft pop, metal lids unscrew. The ingredients pour free into the mortar, or lift up from inside the jar and gently set themselves back down into the bowl.

The whole time, Tifa doesn’t lift her eyes off the page. The various vials and jars drift past her on their way over to the table, and then back on the shelf. The whole scene takes only a minute or two, her attention focused entirely on the book in her hands. When it’s finally done, Tifa closes the book shut with a soft thump. All that’s left is to actually grind everything together and leave it out to soak up the dawn.

She’s about to turn when she feels the cold tip of steel press into the valley of her back. 

Tifa freezes, breath snagging painfully in her throat.

“You’re…” The voice is a weak rasp, but dripping with the kind of determination that makes ice crawl down her spine. “You’re a witch.”

Tifa swallows, hazards a glance backwards. Cloud is standing, holding his sword up to her, one hand curled into a fist at his side. His eyes, catching the candle light, glows like azure stones. “I saved you.”

His expression is hard. “Thanks,” he says, “And now I get to kill you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed that, feel free to[ say 'hi' on my twitter!](https://twitter.com/ourladymuffin) I post status updates, nerd out about stuff, and plan to throw up snippets there too! :)


	2. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously... 
> 
> _Tifa swallows, hazards a glance backwards. Cloud is standing, holding his sword up to her, one hand curled into a fist at his side. His eyes, catching the candle light, glows like azure stones. “I saved you.”_
> 
> _His expression is hard. “Thanks,” he says, “And now I get to kill you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to [mayelisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayelisa) for being a fantastic beta, as always! <3
> 
> ALSO, THERE HAS BEEN FANART. I haven't stopped sobbing. Please go check them out, because they've been AMAZING.
> 
> [ By the wonderful VOA](https://twitter.com/Voaleine/status/1300851144978132992)  
> [ By the amazing Perlmuttt](https://twitter.com/Perlmuttt/status/1301314517222203393)
> 
> You guys really make me feel so lucky. Without further ado, enjoy! :)

Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s that so much of his attention is on trying to stay upright. Either way, Cloud hardly registers it when his sword is flung to the side.

Normally, he has the wherewithal to fight such cheap magic tricks. But this - everything about this - is far from normal.

His sword clatters. Tifa darts out of sight. 

He blinks. 

She’s behind him - lithe arms lock around his middle. Fists dig deep into his gut, knocking the wind out of his lungs. Her leg sweeps beneath his, foot smashing into his own - then, they fall. 

Cloud crashes into the floor. Pain blinds him on impact. His ears ring with it. Her shin finds his arm, pins it to the ground. The rest of her weight crushes into his upper body. One hand shoves his opposite shoulder into the wood.

He’d barely had time to take a breath. 

Her chemise is hiked up high on the leg pinning his arm. Cloud doesn’t notice - not that he _can_. Pain still stars his vision. She’s looming over him, shadowed except for the candlelight that traces her silhouette. Her hair is falling over her shoulder; the tips tickle his nose. 

Cloud grunts, tries to move, but he can do little more than kick his legs uselessly. He tries anyway. She doesn’t budge an inch. He drops back onto the floor with a harsh huff. 

“You-” He can barely see her expression above him. But it doesn’t matter. That familiar feeling of hate and disdain clenches in his chest - clear, despite the pain screaming from it. “-don’t _belong_ .” He spits the words through clenched teeth. “You and your _kind_ don’t deserve to li-” His words are swallowed by a rasp when she rolls her weight harder onto his chest. 

“Don’t make me hurt you anymore.” Her words are icy. He can hear the glare in them, even if he can’t see it. 

He laughs, strained and bitter, “Funny thing for a witch to say.” 

“I could have left you to die.” She’s speaking in harsh whispers. He can almost feel the force of her breath with each uttered word. “But I didn’t. And this is how you return the favour?” 

“Saving one life doesn’t make up for the rest.” Speaking is hard, but he forces through it anyways. He’s searching for an opening. Just needs to feel her let go even a fraction of a second so he can move. But his mind is heavy and fuzzy with whatever poison she’s been feeding him. It’s hard to think. “How many others weren’t as lucky as me, huh?” 

His words are only making her dig harder into him. Her shin is crushing his arm. The pain in his chest is making him sick. But there’s something else too - in the back of his mind, something that’s shouting for him to stop. 

“I don’t kill people.” 

He laughs again, “Liar.” 

“...Tifa?” The small voice wrests a sharp inhale from the witch. Cloud recognizes the voice from the blurry depths of his memory. He recalls a whispered wish, and small fingers brushing aside his hair. A child? “What are you doing?” 

“Marlene-” 

“Why’s the sword here?” 

“Marlene, get back to bed.” There’s an edge of desperation in her voice. Her daughter, then? He clenches a fist.

“But Tifa…”

“Marlene, _please_.” 

“I won’t do anything,” he grits, releasing the tension in his body as he looks up at her. “Not in front of a kid.” 

There’s silence where he can feel Tifa doubt every one of his words. Not that he blames her. Still, he doesn’t move. It feels like she’s about to say something but is interrupted by a thick spurt of coughing. He glances up, just barely making out the shadow of a girl with her hands clutched to her face. The coughs rock her body. 

The weight disappears.

Tifa is up in a blur. The sword shoots up from where it’d been laying on the ground, and follows after her, staying pointedly out of his reach. “Easy, easy,” she cooes with a sweetness that surprises him...less than it should. He says nothing of it, only winces an eye shut as he tries to push himself up. He’s pretty sure his arm is bruised where she’d pinned it with her leg. For a witch, she sure fights with a lot less magic that he’s used to seeing.

The girl’s coughs continue. Despite the throbbing pain in his chest, even he’s starting to worry. Cloud manages to push up into a seated position, turning his head just enough to watch out the corner of his eye as Tifa hoists the girl up, carrying her over to the kitchen counter, and sitting her down on the edge of it. The coughs are deep - the kind that reaches in and scoops out every bit of air in the lungs. Cloud is left, ignored, on the floor as a small vial of some dark liquid lurches across the air and into Tifa’s hand. A spoon follows soon after.

“Open up, Marlene,” she murmurs, the lid of the vial popping open. The cork hangs in the air as Tifa pours out a spoonful of the liquid and feeds it to the girl, who winces as she swallows. 

The coughing, at least, slows.

Tifa sends the spoon to the sink. The vial corks itself and returns to the shelf. Cloud is still ignored. “Better?” She asks softly, reaching up to tuck some stray strands of the girl’s - or Marlene’s, he supposes - hair behind her ear. When Marlene nods, Tifa wraps her arms around the small girl and lifts her up again. “Let’s put you back to bed,” she says, turning and hazarding a glance back at Cloud, who’s still sitting on the floor beside the dining table.

Marlene slips her arms around Tifa’s neck. “What about the stranger?” She asks in a hoarse voice.

“It’s alright, everything’s okay. You just go back to sleep, yeah?” They move out of sight. Probably to the bed he’d spotted tucked near the far wall. 

Utterly ignored. 

For some twisted reason, it kind of stings. He’d just been trying to kill her, damn it. His sword is still trailing after her. Clearly, she’s still too wary of him to let go of it. He could get up and grab it, now that she’s distracted with the girl. But then what? Did he really intend to slaughter the witch in front of the kid? And after that? Was the girl herself cursed too? If she was, then he’d have to-

He grits his teeth. Would the other hunters hesitate, like he’s doing now? Is it just another sign of how god damn weak he is?

 _We kill to protect those we love from those who are cursed. Do not sympathize with the witches, Cloud_ . _Man or woman; young or old - it does not matter._

His mind aches. Every pulse of pain falling into a familiar rhythm: failure, failure, failure. He reaches a hand up, pushing it through his hair. Cloud tries to take a deep breath, but the motion only agitates his wound more. The pain flares. 

“Cloud.” The voice snaps him out of his thoughts, but only just barely. He lifts his head up to see the woman standing over him. His sword is gone. Had she hidden it somewhere? 

She sighs and bends down, “Come on, you’re not supposed to be up.” Cloud offers no resistance as she takes his arm, looping it over his shoulder. One arm wraps around his waist. With a quiet grunt, Tifa hoists him up. It’s humiliating, but he doesn’t have the energy to do much more than half stumble over towards the bench where he’d somehow managed to roll out of just a few moments earlier. 

“Why are you doing this?” He manages to ask once he’s sitting upright on the bench, leaning heavily against the backpiece. 

From over by the shelf, another corked vial crosses the distance towards them. In the kitchen, a mug slips out from behind a cupboard. It dips under the pump at the sink, the handle creaking as water fills the mug. Once it’s filled, it starts crossing the distance towards the front hall as well.

Tifa is standing in front of him. She’s facing the window, so there’s enough light filtering in through the bare, white curtains that he can see her expression. Her lips are set in a frown. There’s wariness in her eyes - crimson on skin like moonlight. “Because you needed help,” she replies, choosing her words deliberately. “And I wanted to ask you how you knew my name.” 

“So...you bring a stranger into your home?” He asks, gaze still fixed on her. Out the corner of his eye, he watches the vial uncork and tip its remaining contents - shimmering and silvery - into the mug of water. The sight makes his gut churn. He isn’t used to seeing magic used in a way that _isn’t_ hurled at him with the intent to kill, kill, _kill_. “You’re just asking for it now.” 

Tifa takes the mug out of the air, “I can take care of myself, remember?” She breaks eye contact just enough to look down at the mug. Inside it, the liquid begins to swirl.

“Only because I’ve got a hole in my chest.” 

She pauses, looks up at him. Something flickers in her eyes - heat, fire, sparks. It looks like she has a retort, but bites it back. Instead, she holds the mug out to him, “Just drink this.” Catching his look, she sighs, “It’s for the pain. If I wanted to poison you, I’ve already had five days to do it.” 

He hates that she’s right. Cloud glances at the mug, then back at her. Reaching up, he takes the mug from her. It’s a small thing, so when he reaches up to take it from her, their fingers brush. 

The wood he’s sitting on creaks. 

It’s a lot more weathered. There’s wind that tickles the back of his neck. He feels a tug on his scalp from where his hair is pulled into a ponytail. The buildings across the way glow in dim light. Cloud realizes he doesn’t recognize them at all - though, somehow, the anxiety that twists in his gut isn’t because of that fact. His legs dangle over the edge, his eyes are fixed on the sky overhead and the stars that meander across it. But his attention is elsewhere - mostly, on the girl that’s sitting behind him. 

Cloud can’t hear the words. They’re muffled, like someone’s pressed their palms against his ears. So he doesn’t hear them so much as he feels them. Resolve that settles in the crevices of his chest - that sinks deeper as he meets eyes like a hearth.

He blinks and finds himself staring up at the same set of eyes. Something whispers in his ear. _Promise me!_

Fine- I promise.

Tifa is looking down at him, but he can’t tell what’s behind her expression. He isn’t sure if there’s something wrong with him, or if she’s really been poisoning him and lying about it. Because, no matter what, Cloud is certain that he’s never seen this woman in his life.

“Are you going to drink it or not?” Her question jolts him out of his thoughts. Blinking, Cloud glances down and realizes that he’s still only half holding the mug. His fingers are still resting lightly over hers. He lifts his other hand up and takes the cup from her a little hastily. 

“What’s the rush?” He quips, but there’s hardly any teeth in his words. He’s still reeling from that...memory? Vision? God, he doesn’t even know. Lifting the mug, he sips slowly, glancing down to see starlight swirling in the cool liquid. It tastes faintly sweet and herbal. Not entirely unpleasant. Maybe there’s magic in this. No, there _definitely_ is - so why is he accepting it? 

“Because it’s late, and I want to sleep,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“I could kill you in your sleep.” 

“You could, but...something tells me you won’t.” The way she says it pulls his eyes back up. She’s turned a little to the side so he can only see her profile. The slant of her nose, the soft hills of her lips - it reminds him of unfamiliar buildings and stars; of a promise made to someone with the same profile. 

“What makes you so sure?” Whatever it is that he’s drinking, it definitely seems to be working. The pain in his chest is already less sharp, and more of a dull throb. He wonders if this...medicine, or whatever it is, has sleep inducing properties too - or, if it’s just his exhaustion catching up to him. 

Her eyes slide back towards him, “A feeling.” 

His brow twitches upwards slightly, “That’s dangerous.”

Tifa looks away and shrugs, “You don’t seem like the type who would go back on their word,” she adds in explanation, “And you said you wouldn’t do anything in front of Marlene.” 

For a second, Cloud wonders if Tifa had seen the same half-vision, half-memory as him. If she remembered the promise. _Their_ promise? He shakes off the thought. It’s starting to make his head spin, just trying to figure out what’s going on. And his head is tired enough as it is. Instead, he looks past Tifa and into the dark, across the way, where the candlelight doesn’t quite reach one corner of the cottage.

“Is she sick?” He asks, then takes another long sip, nearly draining the contents of the mug with it. 

Tifa is quiet a long beat, until Cloud is certain she isn’t going to answer. So he’s surprised when he hears her sigh, “Yes.” The answer is simple, but he picks up on the rest of the story anyways. He doesn’t ask anymore.

Cloud polishes off the last of the medication and holds the emptied mug out to her. Exhaustion weighs on his lids. He doesn’t thank her - doesn’t see a need to, can’t find the energy to; either way, he’s silent. He only waits for her to take the mug, and when she does, he shifts, gingerly laying himself back down onto the bench and closes his eyes.

Her gaze feels like leaden weights on his shoulders. For a moment, he thinks she’s going to say something. The air ripples with her intention, but it doesn’t break. Tifa says nothing, leaving him to listen to her retreating footsteps and to feel his chest pound. There’s a dull pain and something else he doesn’t recognize, but is altogether too tired to try and piece together. 

The sound of a pestle scraping again mortar fills the silent cottage. 

Cloud lets it lull him to sleep. 

When Cloud next wakes up, it’s to the sound of birdsong and pain. 

He opens his eyes slowly and finds himself still laying on a makeshift bed, in an unfamiliar cottage. Turning his head, he sees a corked glass bottle and a note sitting on a rickety table by his bedside. He sits up and winces the whole way through. But, at least, he manages to pick up the note in one shaky hand. 

_Drink this,_ it says in an unfamiliar pen, _Helps with pain & fatigue. Not poison. _

Is that a joke? Cloud can’t tell, but he does hear voices drift in from the opened backdoor. Lifting his eyes, he sees Tifa in the backyard, hanging damp clothes up on a taut string, under a late-morning sun. She’s dressed in a dark blue dress that’s a little stained and a little patched up with short sleeves and a corset with dark laces. The apron clipped to the front of her dress looks like it was white, once upon a time. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun behind her head, loose tendrils drifting in a lazy breeze. 

If he hadn’t seen those jars and vials drifting through the candlelit night, he wouldn’t have thought she looked anything like a witch. But that’s the dangerous thing about witches - they hide in plain sight, looking perfectly normal until the moment they decide to turn. 

He sighs. The subsequent pierce of pain reminds him of the wound on his chest, and the sticky paste clinging to it. Reluctantly, Cloud picks up the glass bottle and uncorks it. The liquid inside shimmers faintly, as though sunlight was captured within the pearl white liquid. It smells like the forest - woodsy and earthy. Cloud glances out the window again. Tifa is smiling and saying something. 

He stares a moment, then tips the contents of the bottle into his mouth. It doesn’t taste great, but he doesn’t complain. By time he polishes off the potion, he realizes that the pain screaming in his chest has dropped to a murmur. The shakiness in his hands steady. He can feel warmth pulse and fill the crevices of his toes. 

Cloud considers the bottle as he lowers it. Part of him still thinks that this is all a ruse and, somehow, he’s playing into this witch’s trap. But as his eyes focus past the glass and out the window at the witch herself, something quiet wonders if this witch is different from the rest. He quashes that thought quickly, and distracts himself by standing up onto his feet. The motion sends a rush sweeping up to his head. He grabs onto the table’s edge to steady himself. 

Slowly, the feeling ebbs and he straightens up just enough to move. His feet carry him out towards the backdoor. Tifa is clipping up a particularly large bedsheet - he can see the shadow of her silhouette from behind it. Off to the side, he spies Marlene sitting on the grass beside a rather expansive looking garden. She’s surrounded by small piles of flowers, organized by colour. Small hands work to twine the flowers together in a long line.

“But I like white, pink, and orange better.” Marlene says as she considers the arrangement in her hands.

“Alright, just don’t take anymore of the chrysanthemums, yeah? I still need them.” Tifa’s reply is nonchalant, and when Marlene hums in response, Cloud gets the feeling that there’s going to be a few more missing chrysanthemums from the garden. He doesn’t have time to say anything though. Tifa is sidling down to an empty section of the laundry line, stepping out from behind the sheet. Their eyes lock. Panic surges.

He tosses the emptied potion bottle at her - underhanded.

The glass vial suspends in the space between them, catching a glint of sunlight. 

“Catch,” he says, and then wants to kick himself. 

Her eyes narrow slightly, “You’re supposed to say that _before_ throwing,” she replies, pulling her eyes away to consider the glass vial as it drifts back towards her. Satisfaction flickers briefly across her expression before she turns her attention back to him. “Someone’s energetic today.” 

Cloud shrugs - tries not to wince when the murmuring pain speaks up. “Magic’s all about defying nature, ain't it? You shouldn’t be surprised, witch.”

For a second, it looks like the witch is going to lash out. Heat flashes across her eyes in a way that is deeply familiar. He’s seen that kind of look before, on the others he’s slain, moments before his sword comes crashing onto them. But he has no sword this time, and the moment passes in a breath. Cloud watches, tense, as Tifa dries her hands off in the bunches of her apron. “If you have enough energy to talk, then you have enough energy to eat,” she says, ducking beneath the laundry line to cross over towards him. “I need to check your wound too.” 

Cloud can’t help but tense further upon seeing the witch approach. His eyes narrow slightly. He’s tempted to retort with a quip, but he catches sight of the girl - Marlene - watching from across the way. Her eyes are round, doe-brown, and brimming with an innocence that he can’t bring himself to tarnish. So he bites back his words. “Not necessary,” he says, but steps out of the doorway anyways.

“Sit.” It’s a command. 

Turning, Cloud’s eyes widen as the kitchen suddenly comes to life. While Tifa steps over to the counter, everything else starts to swirl around her. A cupboard opens and a mug slips out to drop beneath the tap, which starts to pump and fill it with water. Meanwhile, a knife drifts up into Tifa’s hand, followed by a plate. Cutlery settles on the dining table, a chair pulls out and angles towards Cloud, while a wooden box and a roll of bandages hovers over towards Tifa.

Cloud sits. 

When Tifa turns back around, it’s with a plate of food in her hand. She steps over towards the dining table, the mug of water and other knick knacks drifting after her. 

“Blackberry cobbler. We made it last night. The tartness should help your appetite,” she explains as she sets the plate down on the table beside him. His eyes follow her movements as she picks the mug of water out of the air, cradling it in her hands with a particular furrow in her brow. A moment later, the water inside the mug starts to steam. A small wooden box pulls up beside it, opens up, and a little white bag floats out of the box and plops itself into the piping hot liquid. “Peppermint tea, for fatigue.” The mug sets itself down on the table, beside the plate. 

Cloud isn’t sure what he thinks of all this. His gaze flickers to her, then past her to a cloth wringing itself out at the sink, and then back to her. “I’m guessing you know what I am,” he says simply, and sees her tense right away. The cloth floats towards them. “So why are you being so nice to me, witch?”

“Don’t call me that,” she says, snatching the cloth of the air. She pulls a chair out for herself, wood scraping on wood, until she’s sitting close across from him. He can see the curl of her eyelashes - the streaks of mahogany in her irises. 

“I’m only calling you by what you are.” His breath is snagging in ways that it _shouldn’t be_. He’s dealing with a witch right now. One that is very close to him, while he is unarmed. One that has already pinned him to the ground once before. One that is making his heart race and his body relax all at the same time. 

“No you’re not. You’re saying ‘witch’ but what you really mean is...is…” She trails off as she folds the cloth over her hand and leans in. Her brows are furrowed as she reaches up, and starts to wipe the sticky, dark green paste off his wound. 

He isn’t sure if the cloth had been doused in warm water, or if her touch is leaving heat whispering on his skin. Either way, Cloud wishes that there’s still pain to distract him from it all. “Is what?” He prompts, partly to distract himself, partly because he wants to know the answer. 

Her eyes remained fixed on her work. “Monster.” 

Cloud doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. There’s no sense in denying the truth of the matter. 

“But we’re-” She starts to speak, then pauses. Tifa pulls back, shifts the cloth to a clean section, before continuing with her work. Despite the poking and prodding, the pain doesn’t rise above a mumble. “-I’m not a monster.” She glances up at him; their gaze locks again. “Would a monster be doing this?”

He can’t look away, “That’s why I asked.” 

Tifa is quiet another beat before dropping her attention back to his wound. “When you spoke my name, I thought I knew you from somewhere,” she explains. He can hear the caution in her voice. “I still don’t know how you knew me, but now that you’re here...I’m not about to toss you out and let you die.”

“Even though I want to kill you?” 

Her grip on the cloth tightens. “Even though you want to kill me.” 

She swipes up the last of the sticky paste and straightens up slowly. The cloth is stained dark green - nearly black. Tendrils of dark hair frame her face, falling in front of eyes that are turned away. “But I have to ask that you don’t. A-At least...not yet.” Tifa folds up the dirty cloth. It floats up, and carries itself back over to the sink. “I have to live. For Marlene.” 

The last part, he isn’t sure is meant for him. Cloud stays silent, and lets Tifa work. Without any paste in the way, he sees that the scar on his chest is a thin line right down the middle. The stitches that pull the wound shut are neat; the skin around it flushed pale pink. Tifa picks the bandages out of the air and dresses his wound, winding the white strips around his chest. 

Her fingers brush his skin. He realizes that the cloth _hadn’t_ been doused in warm water. 

Thankfully, it isn’t long before Tifa finishes tending to his wounds. She straightens up fully after that and regards her handiwork. “All set,” she says, with a small nod of satisfaction.

Under normal circumstances, this would be his cue to thank the person for their help. But all Cloud can do is stare up at her, too caught up in the crossroads of his mind to come up with as simple a thing as a ‘thanks’. Then, as Tifa’s eyes flick up from his wound to meet his gaze, his mind scrambles some more. It bends across time and space and he’s even _more_ at loss. 

A knock on the door saves him.

Tifa’s attention darts up. Without hesitating, she steps around him, crossing swiftly towards the front door. She peeks, first, through the window beside it before hurrying over towards the door itself. Cloud takes the opportunity to sigh in relief, reaching up to pick up the mug of minty tea to take a slow sip. Behind him, he hears the door open.

“Tifa!” The woman’s voice is unfamiliar, but cheery. “How’re ya’?” 

“It’s good to see you, Jessie,” Tifa’s reply is warm. “Why don’t you come in and sit? I have your father’s medicine ready, but I can put on a kettle. How does tea sound?”

“Sounds great,” Jessie replies. Cloud feels a pair of eyes fall on him, a moment before a not-so-quiet, “Who’s that?”

Cloud takes that as his cue. Picking up the mug in one hand and the plate in the other, he pushes up from his seat. His head rushes again, but he fights it back and forces himself to move steady. “Don’t mind me,” he says, glancing back at the two women. The newcomer is young, with chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, a red ribbon tied neatly around it. A woven basket, covered with a cloth, sits in the crook of her elbow. “I’ll be out back.” 

As he steps out of the cottage, he hears the woman repeat - in another pointless attempt to be quiet - “Who is _that_?”

Cloud doesn’t stay to hear Tifa’s answer. Instead, he walks further out into the backyard, bare feet pressing on cool earth and plush grass. Glancing aside, he sees that Marlene is still on the ground. The piles of flowers around her is smaller. In her hands is a long line of carefully braided flowers and bits of string to keep it all together. She looks up when he stops just a few paces away. 

Marlene blinks at him, “H-Hello.” 

He can see the uncertainty behind the girl’s wide eyes. And something else too - a flicker of fear. Not that he blames her. Dully, Cloud recalls that Marlene had seen it when Tifa pinned him to the ground. How much more before that she’d seen, he doesn’t know. Still, guilt churns his gut at the thought of making an innocent child afraid _of_ him. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. 

What did it say about him, if this child was more afraid of him than a witch? 

“Hi.” His reply is stiff. He doesn’t really know how to handle children. Cloud hesitates a second, before motioning to a spot on the grass beside her. “Mind if I sit?”

Marlene coughs and shakes her head. 

Cloud takes the cue and settles down on the grass a comfortable distance away. All the while, he’s aware of the girl’s stare as he crosses his legs and takes a languid sip of his tea. Setting the mug down on the grass, he glances up at her. “What’s your name?”

“Ma...Marlene,” she replies smally, twiddling a delicate flower with white, spiky petals. “You’re Cloud, right?” 

“Yeah,” he says, looking away to give her some space. Picking up the fork on his plate, Cloud takes a bite of the cobbler. It’s the first bit of real food he’s had since...since before all this.. When was that? A week now? The sweet-sour dessert is heaven on his tongue. “How’d you know?”

“I heard Tifa say it.” The girl still sounds nervous. 

Cloud blinks, glances briefly back at Marlene. The girl calls her mother by her first name? Was the witch not the mother? But discomfort still tints every one of the girl’s movements, so Cloud bites his tongue for now. Instead, he tries for a smile, though the motion moves muscles that feel foreign, “Well...it’s nice to meet you anyways, Marlene.” 

Marlene pauses to look up at him, expression shy even as her fingers still a moment. She opens her mouth like she’s about to say something, but decides otherwise. Cloud gets a small nod instead, before she looks away again and continues twining flowers into the string she’s made. Cloud notices that there’s already one finished product on her other side - a flower crown, of white, pink, and orange blooms. 

He takes a bite of the cobbler.

In the silence, Cloud hears birdsong. The forest that surrounds the cottage is comfortably thick, with trees whose leaves whisper in the wind. Someone had gone through the trouble of clearing out a patch in the forest to build this cottage and the farm behind it. Based on the neatly cleared line separating forest from home, he can tell that someone is _continuing_ to go through the trouble of keeping it that way. His eyes slide back to the young girl. Something clenches in his chest.

“What’re you making?” He asks, before he can think twice about it. If it comes down to it...if this girl turns out to have that cursed power too, he’ll have to finish the job. He’ll have to be thorough. 

He shouldn’t be sitting on the grass like this - under a warm sun, eating homemade cobbler - trying to ease the worries of a girl whose blood may soon stain his sword. 

Marlene hesitates before shrugging slightly, “Flower crowns,” she says, pausing a moment to stifle some coughs, “I made one for myself but I’m making one for Tifa too.” She motions over to a smaller, completed ring of the colorful blooms beside herself.

“They look nice,” he says, and it’s about the best compliment he can think of right now, while something in his head screams at him to stop. He’ll get too invested - he’ll hesitate.

Marlene nods. He thinks he can see her ears flush a little pink. “Thanks,” she says, tying a line of string around a bundle of stems. She pauses, before looking up at him, shy, “Do...you want one too?” 

Cloud blinks, “Isn’t that one for Tifa?”

“Yeah, but I’ve still got a bunch more flowers to use,” Marlene explains, glancing pointedly at the leftovers still piled on the grass around her. “And Tifa won’t notice it if I take a couple more from the garden,” The more she speaks, the more relaxed she becomes. Her volume rises, her words are more spoken than mumbled. “And- and I’m almost done with this one anyways. See?” She coughs a couple times, then pulls the two ends of the braided floral rope together, holding them by the ends into a loop, and then holding it up for Cloud to see.

“So it’s okay - if you want one too,” she concludes, looking up at him with eyes that shine with more innocence than he’s worthy of seeing. 

The corners of his lips quirk without his noticing. “Okay then.” 

Marlene smiles, “Okay!”

The cobbler in his mouth is bitter.

He watches as Marlene picks up another bit of string to tie the two ends together and secure the crown. “You can wear this one for now though,” she says as she works, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s Tifa’s, but I just wanna’ see how it fits your head.” 

Cloud takes a sip of tea to try and wash away the bitter taste. It doesn’t leave. “Okay,” he says anyways.

Marlene pushes up onto her knees as she tightens the knot of the string. “Let me see-” she says, walking on her knees closer towards him. Cloud holds still, watching as the girl reaches up and places the flower crown gently onto his head. It weighs virtually nothing, but he can feel the petals and leaves settle between strands of blond hair. Marlene leans back, fixing him with a thoughtful look.

“How’s it?” He asks.

“You and Tifa have the same size head,” she says with a light giggle, dropping back to sit on her haunches. 

“Do we?”

“Mhm, it fits pretty good -er, well. Pretty well.” Marlene cracks a sheepish smile, “Don’t tell Tifa I said that, or she’s gonna’ make me do grammar practice _again_.” 

Cloud raises a brow. Tifa is teaching the girl to read and write? He sits up, careful to not move too much lest the crown falls off his head. It’s something he feels he needs to know. Whether it’ll change anything at the end of the day, he isn’t sure - but…”Is Tifa your mother?” 

Marlene tilts her head, “No,” she says, before looking off to the side, into the woods and the dappled sunlight that makes shadows dance in the breeze. “She’s my Daddy’s friend. Daddy had to go to work at the military so...so Tifa’s taking care of me until he comes back home.” 

Cloud regrets asking. Before he can say anything though, Tifa’s voice cuts the silence: “Marlene! It’s time for your medicine.” 

Marlene’s attention darts over to Tifa, “Coming!” She looks back to Cloud with a small smile, “I’ll be back, okay?” She says, getting up onto her feet. Reaching down, she dusts some specks of grass off her skirt before bustling past him.

Cloud doesn’t reply. But he does turn to look over his shoulder. Tifa is standing in the doorway as Marlene crosses the distance towards her. His eyes snap to hers. 

He’s supposed to kill her. And if the girl is cursed, he’s supposed to kill her too. 

Marlene takes Tifa’s hand, starts to pull her inside with a smile.

The flowers on his head weigh like boulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed that, feel free to[ say 'hi' on my twitter!](https://twitter.com/ourladymuffin) I post status updates, nerd out about stuff, and plan to throw up snippets there too! :)
> 
> Next chapter might be a while still, with responsibilities starting up again - but I'll do my best!


	3. Splinter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously...
> 
> _Cloud doesn’t reply. But he does turn to look over his shoulder. Tifa is standing in the doorway as Marlene crosses the distance towards her. His eyes snap to hers._
> 
> _He’s supposed to kill her. And if the girl is cursed, he’s supposed to kill her too._
> 
> _Marlene takes Tifa’s hand, starts to pull her inside with a smile._  
>    
> _The flowers on his head weigh like boulders._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thanks to [mayelisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayelisa) for betaing this chapter! She's also the winner of the Final Heaven server's Freak Week, so y'all should check out her latest work, hehe. 
> 
> ALSO there was more fanart!? Honestly I'm so grateful. Please look at this beautiful and pure artwork [ by the spectacular VOA](https://twitter.com/Voaleine/status/1313030739470893057)  
> !
> 
> Finally, HAPPY HALLOWEEN! I made it! It would be wrong if I didn't get a chapter of my witchy fic in time for spookday. Thanks to all of you for your love and patience, I've been having a lot of fun with this fic, so I hope you're enjoying the ride so far!

“Who is _that_?” 

Tifa tries not to wince. There’s no way that Jessie is going to let her get away with not answering the question. And frankly, dodging it is only going to invite more. So Tifa bites back a sigh.

“I don’t know him.” Immediately, the words feel like a lie. “I found him bleeding out by the river.”

“What do you mean ‘bleeding out’?” Jessie asks, incredulity in her voice. 

“Bleeding out as in blood everywhere. From a sword wound, I think.” Tifa replies as she steps towards the medicine shelf. The faint sound of conversation drifts in from outside. Worry gnaws at the back of her mind - she’s caught, somewhere between visions telling her to _trust him_ and her own head telling her she’s being reckless to leave Marlene with him.

Jessie, however, only worries some more. “A _sword wound_?” She repeats, voice cracking with emphasis.

Tifa nods, picking up a small corked jar from the shelf along with a neatly wrapped cloth bundle. Behind her, she hears Jessie set the wicker basket she’d been carrying down on the dining table. “So you’ve got someone who got involved with a _sword fight_ , in your home?” When Tifa doesn’t reply, Jessie lets out an exasperated sigh. “ _Tifa_! Isn’t that dangerous? I can’t imagine you doing something so….so…”

“Stupid?” Tifa finishes, turning the jar over in her hands before she turns to look back at Jessie, who’s staring at her with a furrowed brow and pretty lips dipped down into a frown.

“Yes - that’s it. What if he’s dangerous?”

Tifa worries her lower lip, glances out the window to where she can see Marlene and Cloud sitting together on the grass. From afar, it looks perfectly normal. Marlene is even talking, looking relaxed under the sun.

 _Fine- I promise._ Words that had echoed just the night before, when she’d seen a starry night in his eyes. It had to mean something.

“I couldn’t just leave him to bleed out and die,” Tifa responds eventually, crossing the small distance over towards Jessie and holding the jar of milky ointment out to her. “As soon as he’s healed up, I’ll have him leave.” She adds, because she can see Jessie’s worry deepen further. Probably best to not tell her about their minor altercation the night before...or his threat on her life. Partly to avoid worrying Jessie further, and partly to avoid explaining why Cloud had been after her throat in the first place. However kind the baker has been to her and Marlene these past couple years...the less that Jessie knows about her, the better.

God knows that his sort are ruthless enough to go for anyone they so much as _suspect_ had anything to do with a witch.

Jessie purses her lips as she takes the jar and cloth bundle from Tifa. “Okay,” she says, but Tifa can tell she’s still unconvinced. Luckily though, Jessie doesn’t push any further. Instead, she flips open the cloth that’s draped over her woven basket. Beneath it is a loaf of golden, crusty bread, and something that looks suspiciously like a blackberry pastry, sugar crystals sitting on glistening golden-brown. Jessie looks distracted, even as a warm, sweet smell drifts from the breadbasket. 

“But if anything happens…”

“Tell you, I know,” Tifa smiles, but immediately feels a pang of guilt in her chest. She’s agreed to this so many times now, but there’s so much that she can’t say, no matter how badly she wants to. Even so, Tifa has long since come to terms with the fact that all this - everything to do with her existence - is a burden she has to bear alone. 

Still - there’s so much....she wonders if Jessie will hate her, if she ever finds out about the truth.

Well, Jessie would just be another name on a long list.

 _Witch_. Monster. What was the difference? Her eyes flicker out the window again. Cloud’s back; Marlene’s profile. The view is almost domestic in a way that’s entirely deceptive. 

“Hey Jessie,” Tifa begins softly, the words slipping out before she can stop them. But it’s too late, so carmine eyes shift back to meet Jessie’s brown. “If anything happens to me, promise me something?” She asks - almost begs, pleads.

Jessie’s expression immediately softens, “Marlene, right?” She says, quirking a smile when Tifa blinks in surprise. “If anything happens, take care of Marlene? Tifa, you don’t even have to ask.” Stepping forward, Jessie wraps her arms around Tifa. Tifa feels her throat tighten at the same time that Jessie’s arms do the same around her shoulders. She doesn’t deserve this. She - a liar, a witch, a monster - doesn’t deserve any of this from anyone; let alone from a friend who doesn’t even know _what_ she is.

“I don’t know why you’re asking, but I’ll look after Marlene.” Jessie says, and the words itself - just hearing it said out loud - is enough to nearly push tears past Tifa’s eyes. But she manages to blink them away before Jessie pulls back with a warm smile. “Besides! I know you’ll do the same for my Papa right?” 

Tifa chuckles; the sound is a little thick. “Of course,” she says before cracking a tired sort of smile, “I hope the medicine’s been helping.”

Jessie huffs, “You always worry, and I _always_ tell you that it works like a charm. Papa hasn’t had a nightmare in weeks, and his bedsores are much better now.” 

“I’m just double checking.” 

Jessie pauses, looking across at her with lips slowly pursing. If there’s something she wants to say, she doesn’t say it. Instead, she reaches up to give both of Tifa’s shoulders a pat, “Well, there’s no need to worry about us, you hear? Papa’s going to wake up any day now, I can feel it.” Tifa watches the way Jessies’s eyes flicker past her, to peer out the window looking over the backyard. “You just take care of yourself and Marlene.”

“Yes ma’am.” 

Jessie’s eyes dart back to her, “And don’t let Marlene eat _all_ of the blackberry danishes. You need to treat yourself too, you hear?” 

This time, the upward tugs on her lips feel lighter, “Yes ma’am.”

Jessie stares her down a moment, before giving a satisfied nod. “Good.” she says, giving Tifa’s shoulders one last squeeze before letting go. “So about the tea…” 

Tifa blinks, “Oh right!” She turns, hurrying over towards the kettle she’d meant to put on the hob. 

For the next few moments, respite finds her in the form of black tea and Jessie’s cheerful chatter. It soothes the furrow in her brow, loosens the knot in her gut. But the moment, however pleasant, is brief - interrupted by a quick glance up to a small, wooden clock that hangs over the backdoor. Tifa sets her mug down on the table and pushes up to her feet, already giving Jessie an apologetic smile, “Marlene needs her medicine.” 

Peeking out the back door, she feels something strange clech suddenly around her throat when she finds Cloud sitting on the grass while Marlene smiles, a crown of white and pink and orange on his head. She doesn’t know what it is that’s making it hard to breathe, or if it’s the same thing that squeezes a knot in her gut. Either way, when Marlene bounds up and takes her hand after hearing her name called, Tifa lets the girl pull her inside - though it isn’t before she catches Cloud’s eye and finds it near impossible to tear her own away.

After Marlene’s medicine, Jessie stays just long enough to giggle with the young girl and down two cups of tea before excusing herself to go. Tifa follows her to the front door, smiling as Marlene clutches her skirts and looks up at the baker’s daughter. 

“So in five day’s time? At sundown?” Jessie says as she steps out the front door and turns to look back at the other two.

“Please, if you can. I’m running low on some herbs that I need to pick up.” Tifa replies, one hand reaching down to idly rest behind Marlene’s shoulders.

Jessie flashes a smile, “Don’t you worry, I’ll be here,” she said, looking down and giving Marlene a tacky wink, “We’ll have lots of fun, right?” 

Marlene grins, “Right!”

Tifa smiles, “Thank you, Jessie. I really appreciate it.”

“What did I _just_ say? Don’t _worry_ about it!” Jessie steps up and wraps her arms around Tifa in a hug, squeezing tight, “Honestly, it’s the least I can do for how you’ve helped my Pa.” Over her shoulder, Tifa’s expression falters. Her father has been in a coma for as long as Tifa has known Jessie. To wake him up is a fairly simple task, but would be a miracle she wouldn't be able to explain - so her father stays dead to the world. 

Tifa manages to hug back, “You’re very welcome, Jessie.” 

With that, Jessie leaves with a wave and a smile Tifa doesn’t deserve. 

The rest of the day passes almost too peacefully. Marlene eventually heads back out and spends the rest of the afternoon making another flower crown while Cloud sits nearby, entertaining her questions or sharing in the silence. Tifa keeps a watchful eye, but doesn’t stray too close. She picks up on wisps of conversation - about the garden, the flowers, whether his chest still hurts, if he likes bees. Once or twice she sees the strangest thing - Cloud’s smile. The upward quirk of his lips are small and they don’t touch his eyes, but she finds herself unable to look away each time. 

Again, that feeling like she’s seen it before - somewhere, somehow. But Tifa doesn’t let herself think about it too hard, figuring that it’s all still a strange, pointless sensation. So she ignores it, and pretends to not notice the way the feeling sticks to the edges of her heart and doesn’t let go.

When evening comes, dinner is a meal of Jessie’s bread and a cream stew that uses up the last of their fresh cream and root vegetables. Tifa isn’t sure if Cloud will eat, but Marlene solves the problem by pulling Cloud into the house, her hand gripping his. The pair stumble in through the back door, Marlene looking determined and Cloud looking a little awkward. 

It’s cute, in a way.

Tifa puts out three bowls of food at the table, but Cloud takes his and retreats into the backyard to eat. “I like it better outside,” he explains when Marlene protests. Tifa watches him try for a smile, but this one is smaller than the ones before. He says nothing more though and takes his leave.

Before he can step away completely, the shirt he’d been wearing when she found him - the tattered, off-white linen shirt with tall collars - flits up from where it’d been neatly folded near his pile of gear. He freezes mid-step when the shirt drapes itself over one of his shoulders. 

“It’s cold out there,” she says.

Cloud glances back at her. She catches his look from the corner of his eye. But he says nothing and continues out through the backdoor, closing it shut behind him with his free hand. 

It’s hard to not feel a pang of disappointment, especially when she sees Marlene’s shoulders slump a bit afterwards. But she remembers that it’s stupid to expect anything from a witch hunter, so instead, she leans in closer to Marlene, “You know,” she says in a faux whisper, “Jessie brought dessert.” 

Marlene perks up after that, “Really?” Even then, Tifa can’t help but notice that the light in the girl’s eyes seems dimmer than usual. 

By the time Cloud returns from outside, it’s late. 

Marlene is already asleep in bed while Tifa sits at the dining table, candles nestled in gaps between books and jars and vials splayed out on old wood. She looks up when the back door opens, halfway surprised to see Cloud step in. He’s wearing his shirt and carrying an empty bowl in his hands. When he shuts the door and turns to look at her across the way, Tifa holds his gaze only a moment before dropping her own. She stares down at the mortar and pestle in front of her and continues to slowly grind the pearly white powder inside of it. 

She’s not really paying attention. And truth be told, the powder is already done. She just wanted something to keep her hands busy and her eyes averted, even though it feels like every other sense is finely attuned to the witch hunter milling about her cottage. Tifa hears him step over toward the sink. She sets the pestle down and picks up a small, wooden spoon just as she hears him start to pump water. He washes his bowl as she spoons fine powder from the mortar into a vial.

When he’s done, things quiet again. 

Tifa sets the spoon down. A glass bottle drifts up. This one is slightly bigger than the others on her table, the glass of its main body coiling upwards towards a tall, narrow neck. Its cork slips off with a pop. Tifa reaches up and plucks it from the air, giving it a couple swirls. The clear liquid inside of it begins to shimmer, casting a light that’s more golden than the glow of the candles on the table. 

This time, her attention is fixed on her hands as she tips the gold liquid into the vial in her hand - just enough for the liquid to barely cover the pearly white powder. For a moment, the glow turns into a flash of light. It’s bright against the relative dark of the cottage, but it lasts only a moment before dissipating completely. In its wake is Marlene’s medicine, like moonlight caught in a vial.. 

She lets go of the coiled potion bottle. Its cork presses back into the opening and starts drifting back to its place on the table as Tifa examines Marlene’s medicine for a moment. It looks about right, and it should last them another couple days. 

“What did you do?”

The coiled bottle drops. A hand shoots out and catches it before the bottle can crash onto the tabletop below. 

Tifa looks up across the table to see Cloud standing on the other side. He’s wincing a bit, one hand holding his chest while the other sets the potion bottle, gingerly, down onto the table. 

She wants to kick herself for not paying attention. Instead, she gives him a small, sheepish smile. “Good catch,” she says, watching as he pulls his hand away from the bottle and wipes it off on his pants, as though he’d touched something he shouldn’t have. Tifa pretends not to notice. “That would have been a lot of fun to clean up.” 

“Is it always so…?” He motions at the vial in her hand vaguely while pulling up a chair and sitting down - a little heavily - onto it.

Tifa tries not to look surprised. She isn’t sure if she’s more surprised that he’s sitting at the table with her, or that he’s asking her about her work. Either way, it takes her a second to reply. “Not always. It depends on what it’s for. Marlene needs her medication to be stronger, so -um,” she pauses, trying to think of a better way to phrase it. Her audience wouldn’t appreciate hearing about _magic_. “So it’s a little flashier.” 

Cloud’s only response is a small grunt. His elbows are propped on the table, head hanging low between them as he leans into the table. She can’t see his face, but she gets a sense that the pain medication from earlier in the day must be wearing off by now. Plus, all the moving around probably hasn’t helped.

Quietly, a cupboard opens up behind her to allow a mug to slip out. Meanwhile, another corked vial slides off its place on the shelves. “Does it hurt?” She asks, and is surprised by the softness in her voice. Tifa bites her lip, watching him, feeling uncertainty and that foreign familiarity churn in her gut. 

He shakes his head, but she’s not convinced. The mug fills with water, the vial uncorks. She’s in the middle of combining the two when he does finally speak up, his voice strained and words careful, “What happens to Marlene...if you’re gone?”

Everything pauses midair. It’s a good thing he’s too busy looking down at the ground to notice.

Tifa exhales slowly and sets down the vial with Marlene’s medicine. She plucks the mug out of the air as the vial of silvery liquid returns to the shelf, emptier than when it’d last left it. She holds the mug in her hands, watches as the liquid inside it swirls. “Depends on _why_ I’m gone,” she replies, letting a moment of pointed silence stand before continuing, “There are people in town who will look after her, but for how long, I don’t know. And whether they’ll find her a cure, I know even less. But if they find out what I am, then…” She glances over at the bed, tucked in the far shadows of the room. 

“Where are her parents?” 

Tifa’s eyes drop back to Cloud and his low hanging head, linen hair catching candle light. “Dead.” 

This time, he lifts his head to look up at her, surprise flickering briefly across too-blue eyes. “Dead? I thought her father is in the military.”

A small, bitter smile tugs at her lips. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised that Marlene’s managed to worm her way into the cold heart of a hunter. But as soon as that thought flits into her mind, a voice murmurs from somewhere in her: _You know his heart isn’t cold. You_ know _that._

“That’s her adopted father,” Tifa explains, even though she knows there’s no real reason to tell him, even though she knows to ignore that voice in her head. But it’s hard not to speak when he’s looking up at her like that. His eyes are beautiful when they aren’t stained with bloodlust, but she knows that too - doesn’t she? “You’re right that he was in the military.” 

“Was?”

Even her bitter smile drops. Tifa leans forward and sets the mug down onto the table in front of him. “All I know is that he’s missing in action. It’s been nearly a year now and he’s yet to turn up.” She pulls her hand away and straightens up again, keeping her gaze down as she closes up the vial with Marlene’s medication and sets about cleaning everything else up.

“So why you then? Being a witch wasn’t hard enough for you?”

Tifa shoots him a short look, “I owed him.” When his gaze doesn’t waver, she continues on - quieter, “And there wasn’t anyone else.”

Cloud doesn’t say anything more. Tifa closes up her books, and starts letting things drift back into place. It’s a few moments of silence before she hears movement. Only then does she look up just in time to see Cloud stand. 

“I don’t know how I knew your name, by the way. I’ve never met you in my life.” The way he says it - she doesn’t understand why it feels like a knife sinking into her chest. Of course he’s never met her. She’s never met _him_. Even so, why does it look like he’s trying to convince himself as much as he’s trying to convince her? 

Cloud turns away before she can see much else. “There’s no point in doing any of this. You’re just putting yourself at risk. Marlene too.” 

She knows. Of course she knows. “As soon as your wound heals, you can-” 

“And if I kill you before then?” His eyes dart back to hers - and there it is again, the ice that seems so out of place against deep, dark blue. 

“You won’t.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“I won’t let you, even if you’d actually do it.”

He steps around the table, his gaze never once letting go. “You sure about that?” His voice is low. 

“Yeah.” She pivots slightly on her foot, just so she’s facing him, chin tilted upwards slightly. 

Another step and he’s a breath away, “How?”

“Because-” She can barely breathe. He’s so close she can see icy flecks circle his irises even under candlelight. She wants to bite her lip. This close, it’s hard to breathe. When did things suddenly get so tense? One second, it’d been an almost normal conversation; the next, he’s here, glaring down at her, presence pressing down on her chest. But she doesn’t back down - she won’t. Not like this. So Tifa curls her fist. “-because you don’t sound convinced. About not knowing me.”

His eyes narrow, “Are you trying to tell me what I know?” They’re speaking so lowly it’s hushed, almost like whispers that might have been intimate, were the words not sick with poison.

“No, but you’re not convinced yourself, are you?” Part of her wonders if it’s a good idea to bring this up. After all, she doesn’t know if it’s just her who’s been seeing things - feeling things that aren’t hers, but that are also too deep and too familiar to be anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because she’s got an affiliation with magic, and someone who doesn’t have it - someone like him - wouldn’t understand. “I know what I heard, Cloud. And I heard you speak my name. You didn’t deny it, even when you woke up. We _know_ each other from somewhere, don’t we?” 

Something in his gaze splinters. But Tifa doesn’t get a chance to see what before he’s turning away, spinning on his heel so sharply she feels the brush of air from his movement. 

“It’s your damn magic. Playing tricks on me,” he mutters finally, after a long beat of silence, “I don’t - I can’t trust my own head.”

She swallows, heart skipping beats in her chest, “Why not?” The question is small.

Cloud reaches up with one hand, presses the heel of it against his temple. “It’s hard to explain,” he says, and it sounds like he’s fighting the words he’s saying.

Tifa stares after him even though he’s turned away, the lines of his jaw tense, catching sharp shadows from the candle glow. “You...You’ve been seeing it _too_ ?” The question slips out in a breath because she isn’t sure but she has to know; she’s scared of what he’ll say but she _has to know_.

His attention whips back to her, hand falling away from his head. “You’re the witch here. How do you not know about your own damn magic?”

The sudden veracity in his tone catches her off guard. Heat flares in her chest, “I’m just trying to understand what is happening! I’m only trying to help you. What is your _problem_?” 

She sees the same temper flare in his gaze before he responds, “My problem? My _problem_ is that I’m stuck under the mercy of a _wench_ who’s been doing Gods know _what_ to me.” He snaps at her, words a low, angry hiss. “And I’ve been getting these visions of some place I’ve never been, but they feel like memories from someone who’s me, but also _not_ me. And the only thing - the _only_ consistent thing - in all of them has been _you_!” 

Tifa stares up at him. 

Cloud is almost out of breath. It takes a second for him to catch it - and to catch himself. He turns away quickly, shadows swallowing up the rest of his expression. He lifts a hand and runs it over his face, holding his chin a moment before finally letting that fall too. 

Tifa swallows, “Cloud…”

“Forget I said anything,” he says, turning the rest of the way and striding towards his bed. He doesn’t say anything more, only sits down heavily onto the makeshift bed, and then laying back, the wood creaking under the force of his weight.

Tifa watches him go, her heart thudding too loud in her ears. Taking a steadying breath, she drops her eyes back down to her half-tidied up table. This is information she doesn’t know what to do with, and it all still feels inexplicable, even for her. 

If only her Master was still around. Surely, he would have an answer.

For now, Tifa continues cleaning up in numb silence, glancing up only once more to see Cloud on the bench, unmoving. She leaves him be, closing up the last of her books and putting everything else back to where they belong. The last thing she cleans is the mug, still left on the table where Cloud had sat. It’s empty.

It isn’t until she takes it over to the sink does she remember that she hadn’t even told him what was in it. 

* * *

Cloud stays because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. 

Or at least, that’s what he tries to tell himself. 

He gives the small family as much distance as he can. He stays out of Tifa’s way, spending most of his time out in the backyard whenever she’s busy doing her witch things indoors. Mostly, he avoids her because he doesn’t want to talk about what happened that night - what she’d said; what he’d said. What it all means.

So he winds up spending quite a lot of time with Marlene, who seems to always seek him out whenever she can. It’s through Marlene that Cloud finds himself doing more chores than he ever thought he’d do, and for a bloody witch no less. But he can’t say ‘no’ to Marlene so he helps the little girl with weeding in the garden one day, and then helps to pick the last of the beans for the season. Sometimes it’s to wash dishes, or rake the fallen leaves. It’s small, trivial work - but seeing as he’d be bored out of his skull otherwise, Cloud welcomes the distraction. 

The whole time though, he’s aware of Tifa’s watchful eye, even when she isn’t out in the backyard with them.

He tried asking for his sword back, so he can at least occupy some of his time with maintaining the thing. But Tifa only gives him an incredulous look - and he supposes he can’t blame her. After all, he had tried to kill her with it at the first opportunity.

“I’ll give it back to you when your wound heals.” And that was that.

Though, as much as he hates to admit it, whatever it is that the witch is putting on his wound seems to be helping quite a lot. For the most part, he finds himself not needing that painkilling drink to move around anymore. Still, they don’t talk about that night.

The morning of the fifth day, Tifa removes the stitches from his wound, leaving only a fresh, pink line where an angry red gash had once been. The whole process had been quick and relatively painless, thanks to more of her medicines. 

“Why didn’t you use your magic?” He asks as he pulls his shirt back on over his head. 

Tifa is washing her hands in the sink while Marlene sits at the other empty chair at the table, watching them both with idle interest as she swings her legs and eats her oatmeal. “It’s hard to do precise work like that with magic,” she explains with a shrug. “My hands are better.”

Cloud doesn’t say anything more. He’s learnt more than he wants to about magic, truth be told. He hates that it’s so convenient. Hates that she uses it for _good_ things like medicine and gardening. She’s not supposed to. In fact, that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? 

But he keeps that to himself. She would use it for evil, if she had the opportunity. Hell, maybe she _had_ \- there’s no way for him to tell. Either way, he still has to be careful. He can’t let his guard down around this witch - or around witches in general - just because he’s never seen her use her curse for anything but good. 

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” he says, and immediately feels a different pang of pain altogether when Marlene turns wide eyes up to him.

“You’re leaving?” She says, voice pitching upwards.

“I have to go back to work,” he explains, looking over at her. He tries for an apologetic smile, but his lips refuse to move. “I’m sorry, Marlene.” 

The girl stares at him a long moment before turning away quickly. She doesn’t say anything, only hops off her chair and runs out the back door, disappearing out of sight as she turns the corner.

This is why he shouldn’t have reached out to the girl, much less stay for so long. 

“I’ll give you your sword back tomorrow then,” Tifa says from where she’s standing at the sink, her back facing him. “Don’t come back after that - please.”

It’s a weird relationship that they have now, after so many days spent under the same roof, both still unwilling to broach the subject of their apparently shared visions. _Amicable_ is the best that he can describe it. But it’s clear that she still doesn’t trust him anymore than he trusts her. They skirt a line constantly; toeing so close to familiar, but never quite breaching that. It’s an awkward sort of dance, a back and forth that leaves him dizzy and confused if it thinks too hard on it. Yet, in all those days, he hasn’t gotten any more visions. No more dreams of distant stars and murmured promises, of muffled music or carmine eyes that look at him with more warmth than he’s ever seen from anyone else in his life. 

When she looks at him, all he can see is a cold wariness, an uncertainty, and distrust that hurts more than it should. Because, of course, he deserves it all.

“Right,” he says and that’s that. 

Later that evening, a knock sounds on the door. 

When Tifa opens it, Cloud recognizes the woman that’s standing at the door, It’s the same woman from before - the one that had brought the bread a few days ago. “Jessie, thanks for coming.” Tifa says as the two women exchange a quick hug. 

He catches Jessie’s eye from over Tifa’s shoulder but quickly looks away. He’s at the sink, finishing up with washing his dishes. Just as last time, he gets the feeling that he should step out to give the two women a chance to talk. So he does, drying off his hands and quietly slinking out the back door just as Jessie is asking Tifa about how she’s doing - the usual friendly small talk. 

Outside, he finds Marlene on the grass beside the garden. The same place she’d been the last time Jessie had come to visit. The young girl had been sulking all day. After the conversation about leaving earlier that day, Cloud had opted to give Marlene space, figuring that there isn’t much that he can say to make the young girl feel better. And it seemed like Marlene didn’t want to be around him anyways, eventually grabbing a basket and informing Tifa she was going to go blackberry picking again. Tifa had tried to say that there weren't going to be many berries left, this late into the season. But if Marlene heard, she made no show of it - only grabbing her coat and her basket before disappearing for most of the afternoon, only returning for her medication and then dinner. 

Now, the girl looks much smaller in the grass, under a setting sun. 

He crosses the yard, gingerly sits himself down on the grass beside her. Marlene doesn’t move, but she doesn’t say anything either. “I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s all he can come up with. Even after a whole day of thinking, he doesn’t know what more he _can_ say.

Marlene continues plucking at the grass, picking up one blade of it and tearing it in half, right down the middle, along the midvein. “It’s okay,” she says eventually in a small voice. “I didn’t think you’d stay anyways.”

Cloud, not knowing what else to say, remains silent. 

After a moment, Tifa calls for Marlene. The girl pushes up onto her feet wordlessly and heads back inside, stifling a few coughs as she goes. It’s probably just time to take her medicine, so Cloud doesn’t think too much of it. He stays outside a while longer, watching the orange deepen and darken while unfamiliar laughter carries from inside the house. It sounds like Jessie is doing her best to keep Marlene entertained, though the giggles and talking sound a little forced in their joy.

Either way, it seems like the baker is staying for longer than he’d expected, and it’s getting cold enough outside that he doesn’t want to loiter anymore. Pushing up onto his feet, Cloud brushes the grass of his pants and turns to head back into the warmth of the cottage that now feels _too_ familiar. 

As he steps inside, he quickly realizes that Tifa is nowhere to be found. 

There’s only Jessie, sitting at the dining table playing some sort of game with Marlene involving a checkerboard and two different coloured sets of pebbles. Jessie is trying her best, but Marlene doesn’t seem very engaged in the game. It strikes Cloud as an odd choice of game to play with a child like Marlene, but who is he to say anything? Instead, he shuts the door behind him and looks back to see Jessie watching him - almost a little warily.

“Where’s Tifa?” Cloud asks, figuring that there is no point to saying hello and introducing himself to someone he’s never going to see again. 

“Running errands - why?” He can’t tell if he’s imagining it, or if there’s an edge of suspicion to Jessie’s reply. 

He brushes it off and shrugs, “Just seems late for errands.” Maybe ‘errands’ means something else. Maybe this is what he’s been waiting for this whole time - a reason, any reason, to make taking out this witch _easy_. 

“Tifa can take care of herself perfectly fine.” He hears Jessie say as he crosses over towards his ‘bed’. Just the day before, he’d moved all his effects from its spot by the door to a spot closer to his bed. It’d been a comfort to have his things nearby, even though he knows that Tifa must have gone through it all and taken away anything dangerous. “A buncha’ witch hunters came by the village earlier today. I’m sure they’ll get whatever monster’s out there. Nothing to worry about.” 

Cloud pauses, looking back at Jessie over his shoulder. “Witch hunters?” His eyes flicker over to Marlene. The girl’s eyes are wide and fixed on Jessie. 

It’s a second before Jessie realizes that anything’s amiss. “Hm? Yeah. First time I’ve seen them around these parts, but apparently they’re checking the area.” Then, seeing Marlene’s wide eyes, Jessie smiles, “Oh, don’t you worry Marlene. They’ll clear out the woods of any monsters. Tifa’ll be just fine.” 

Something cold sweeps in his blood. He isn’t sure why, or where it’s coming from. It definitely isn’t because he’s worried about her - no, it must be because he’s anxious that the others will get to her first, and he’d lose his opportunity. Whatever the reason, Cloud’s already reaching over to grab his inky black leather armour off the pile on the floor. There’s still a nasty hole right in the middle of the chest piece, but it’s better than nothing. 

His quick donning of armour doesn’t go unnoticed. He hears the scrape of the chair on wood as Jessie stands, “What are you doing?” She asks, a new sort of edge in her voice.

“Heading out,” he replies, tightening up the straps of his chest piece, and then bending over to do the same with the buckles on the sides of his boots. Straightening up, he grabs his belt and straps that to his waist; pouches hang from his hip. His scabbard is still there, but it’s empty. He unfolds his coat next, tugging it on. It’s black as well, and long, sweeping down mid-thigh with hefty lapels and silvery buttons running down the front. 

“Where?” 

“Somewhere.” He knows his replies are curt, but he couldn’t care less. He straps on his pauldron next - also made of leather, but sturdy and scuffed with silvery fastens adorning the edges. He’d found out yesterday that he only has one of his pauldrons left - the other must have fallen out sometime before Tifa found him in the river, he’s not sure. But one is better than none, so he puts it on anyways, the straps crossing over his back and chest.

Cloud turns as he pulls on his gloves, which are worn and dark grey. He has no weapon with him, but he knows Tifa keeps an axe in the front for chopping wood. It’s clumsy, but until he gets a sword (even if it’s not _his_ sword), it’ll have to do. He’ll come back later for his sword. 

Jessie is watching him with uncertain eyes - but it’s Marlene’s that he has trouble meeting. He spares her only a glance, before stepping over towards the front door.. “I was leaving anyway, Tifa knows.” Is all he offers in explanation to Jessie as he walks by. Arriving at the front door, he opens it up and pauses only to look back at the two. He manages a quick glance at Marlene. 

“Bye.” 

With that, he turns and walks out, front door swinging close behind him. 

Thick leaves crunch underfoot as he steps around the cottage, to the corner with piles of chopped wood and an axe leaning against a stump. He picks it up deftly, turns it over and slots it into his scabbard temporarily. With that set, he turns and strides away from the cottage. Out here, it’s cold. The moon is a sliver in a cloudless sky, and the wind that drifts by is cold. But it’s familiar. This is where he ought to be - not the enveloped in the peace of a quiet cottage, or under warmth of an afternoon sun. His wound still aches, but he welcomes the pain, if only as a reminder that he still has plenty of work to do.

The path leading from the cottage is lined with trees whose old branches are near bare. He isn’t sure where he’s going. Where would Tifa be, right now? What kind of errand is she running? Dimly, he recalls overhearing her muttering that she was running low on some oddly named herb, but there’s no way of telling if that’s what she’s out to get. Though, the river might be a good place to start. If that’s where she’d found him, then it’s likely that it’s a place she’d go back to. Besides, maybe finding him had interrupted whatever she’d been at the river to do, and now she’s back there to pick up where she’d left off. 

The next issue is finding the river. It can’t be far, if she had to drag his body all the way back to the cottage. But Tifa is strong. He’s seen her chop wood, felt her pin him to the ground. He doesn’t doubt that she’d be able to carry him further than the average person.

He’d have to go into the village and ask for directions. But before he can, his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps behind him, followed by - “Cloud!” 

Cloud turns, seeing Marlene running after him. Jessie is further behind, the cottage’s light spilling into the night. 

“Marlene, what-” He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. As soon as he stops and turns around, Marlene barrels into him, hands grabbing tight fistfuls of his coat. 

“Don’t do it! _Don’t_!” Coughs wrack through her small body. He can feel them shudder through her. She lets go of him with one hand, curling it into a fist and pounding weakly at his leg. 

“Hey - hey,” Cloud isn’t sure what’s going on, but he pulls Marlene’s hands away gently and crouches down, hands gripping her wrists. “Take it easy.” Behind her, he sees Jessie come to a stop halfway between them and the cottage, looking at loss for what to do.

Marlene shakes her head, words desperate despite the rasp in them, “No! You’re going to hurt us!” 

His grip on her wrists tighten a fraction, “I’m not going to hurt you-”

“But Tifa-!” The rest of her words are swallowed by more coughing.

This time, the pain that lances his chest isn’t from the wound. 

Cloud can only watch as the girl coughs and coughs and coughs. Slowly, he lets go of her wrists and watches as her hands fly up to cover over her mouth. “Go back inside.” When she shakes her head through the coughs, Cloud draws a breath and pushes back up. “Look, Jessie’s waiting for you.” 

“That...That night, if I wasn’t there you would have-! I...I saw - I _saw_ you fighting-” It’s dark, but he can see the glint of moisture on her cheeks. He can hear the thickness in her voice under the coughing. "I thought if we were friends, then…then you wouldn't - wouldn't -!" Another cough, but she looks up at him, rubbing away her tears roughly.

“We’re _friends_ aren’t we?”

He steps back. Maybe he ought to say something, but the words lodge in his throat. He knows what words would soothe the girl’s hysterics, but he can’t say them. So instead, he steps back further. Marlene drops to her knees on the ground, leaves crushing under her weight. There’s no more from her, only sobs now. Cloud looks up to see Jessie beginning to hurry the rest of the way over towards them.

 _I’m sorry._ He isn’t sure if he said it. Maybe he did, but the wind whisks the words away before they can be heard. Maybe that’s for the better.

Jessie catches up, immediately dropping to Marlene’s side. When she looks up at him, her gaze is cold and accusing. 

Only then does Cloud turn and walk off into the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed that, feel free to[ say 'hi' on my twitter!](https://twitter.com/ourladymuffin) I post status updates, nerd out about stuff, and plan to throw up snippets there too! :)


	4. Shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously...
> 
> _I’m sorry. He isn’t sure if he said it. Maybe he did, but the wind whisks the words away before they can be heard. Maybe that’s for the better._
> 
> _Jessie catches up, immediately dropping to Marlene’s side. When she looks up at him, her gaze is cold and accusing._
> 
> _Only then does Cloud turn and walk off into the night._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Please note that the rating has changed from T to M because of violence! **
> 
> Managed to get this one out in time for my (arbitrarily set) once-a-month schedule! Phew, I honestly didn't think I was going to make it this round, but I'm glad I managed. Thank you again to [mayelisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayelisa) for being such a wonderful and prompt beta! 
> 
> Enjoy! 😊

Tifa stops at the spot. Pebbles that stretch a little farther out into the river, where boulders stand against the tide. The very rocks that had probably stopped him when he’d been washing down the river. She can’t see the marks in the pebbles from when she’d had to drag him up to start lugging his sodden, heavy body back to the cottage anymore, but she can still picture them nonetheless. 

The night is the same though. Dark, with a moon that’s even smaller than it’d been before. Cold that lays thickly over the exposed ridge of her nose. And like that night, she’s dressed in a heavy, black cloak to keep warm and to keep out of sight. Beneath that, a black dress with a dark grey bodice to hold everything together, along with thick, baggy sleeves that cinch at her wrists. 

Why did she stop? Maybe if she stays here long enough, the river will give her an answer to the trouble it’d left for her all those nights ago. 

But of course, the water is silent and the winds say nothing.

Tifa grips the worn wood of her staff tighter. The motion rattles her oil lamp slightly, which hangs from a carved knob at the top of her staff. Another gust drifts by, catching the long, tapered tail hanging from the back of her hood. Her lamp flickers. Reaching up, she tugs the hood of her cloak closer around her head and tucks the wicker basket hanging from the crook of her elbow against her side. 

She takes a breath and carries forward, leather boots crunching on pebbles as she walks by the boulders. 

Behind the rocks, further along the shore, she sees the faintest glimmer of something blue tucked in dark crevices between stones. Tifa slows as she approaches and crouches down, heavy cloaks pooling on the ground around her as she sets her basket down beside her. Flipping aside the cloth covering the basket first, she plucks the Fairy’s Helmet from the earth next, before placing it down into the basket alongside others of its kind. The mushroom’s delicate caps nestle into each other; long, spindly stems twining together. They continue to glow gently - a sort of blue-green hue that altogether reminds her too much of something else entirely.

Tifa pushes back up almost a little too fast. Her staff slips against the pebbles, metal handle of her oil lamp creaking in protest. 

There’s too much for her to do to afford letting her mind wander like this. The Fairy Helmets grow only within a narrow period of time between the falling leaves and the first snow, and she will need far more than this to last until the next season. There is no _time_ to be thinking of a pesky man with pretty eyes. 

Bending, she scoops her basket off the ground and flips the cloth back over again, hiding the mushroom’s soft glow. Tucking the handle back into her elbow, she grips her staff and marches on. 

She makes her way around the bend of the river when a voice catches her off guard.

“Miss!” It’s the sound of a man. Tifa nearly starts, stopping as she turns to look off to her side, where the dark woods line the river’s pebbly shores. Sure enough, she sees a man clad in ebony clothing venture out from the trees, heavy footfalls crunching as he hits pebble. “Good evening, miss. Thank you for stopping.” It’s too dark to see much, but as he steps into the farthest reaches of her lamp’s glow, she can see his crooked smile and dark hair. She doesn’t recognize him. 

But Tifa’s not really paying attention to his face. Because she’s far too distracted by what the man is wearing - oily black armour that sits over his torso, a heavy belt from which hangs a sword that is only partially hidden beneath his coat. It reminds her of someone else with the same set of gear. Someone who was-

“Awfully late for a young miss like yourself to be out, no?” The man’s voice is friendly in the way that makes ice crawl down her spine.

She looks back up at him, carefully mustering a small smile of her own. “I was just on my way home.” 

“Wonderful. The woods are a dangerous place for an unarmed lady to be out and about, especially at night,” the man says with a small nod. He glances around their surroundings a moment, looking aside as he carries on, “Dangerous creatures have been reported to be lurking around these parts. You wouldn’t happen to have seen or heard anything have you?” As he finishes his question, dark eyes slide back to her.

Tifa stiffens, but forces her expression into a look of concern. “Dangerous creatures? No, I haven’t seen anything out this way,” she says before giving a light chuckle, “Save for a frog or two.” 

The man chuckles as well, but even she can tell that it’s a sound that’s devoid of humour. “Good, good,” he says, a lapse of silence passing - though, even still, he doesn’t look away.

Tifa nods, then draws a little breath, “Well, if there’s nothing more, sir, I should head home now.” She takes a step back. 

“Oh yes, of course, don’t let me hold you up,” the man says with a smile. For a moment, Tifa thinks she’s safe to go, but before she can move a muscle, the man carries on, “Just one more quick question, if you don’t mind, miss?” 

Her grip tightens around her staff. Tifa smiles, “Yes?”

“Would you happen to know if a ‘Marlene’ lives nearby here?” 

The questions knocks the air out of her. Beneath her cloak, in a small scabbard wrapped around her bicep, a hidden dagger quivers. Tifa frowns at that man, “No, I can’t say I’ve heard of her. I’m sorry.” 

“The townsfolk said that she lives out in the woods, away from town - are you sure you’ve not heard of her? Surely you must.” 

Tifa hums in thought. The dagger in her sleeve slips free of its scabbard, drifts slowly down her arm. “I can’t say I recall. I might have heard their name in passing, but I don’t know where they live,” she says, doing her best to sound apologetic. 

The man is watching her, but she can’t tell what is behind his expression. “This ‘Marlene’ may be a very dangerous creature, you see. Its father was a cursed beast, but he, at least, was tamed by the royal troops,” he explained, eyes still never leaving hers, “I’m here to make sure that any wild, untamed beasts are taken care of before someone gets hurt.”

She can feel the tip of the dagger tuck just beneath the opening of her sleeve. “Oh my,” Tifa breathes, reaching up to clutch onto her wooden staff with both hands, “That is very concerning to hear. I’m really sorry I can’t give you anything useful - but if it’s as you say, I should really head home.” 

The man nods, “Of course. If you don’t know, then you don’t know. But since there’s such a danger in these woods, how about I walk you home? I’d hate for anything to happen to you out here, miss.”

“No, no, it’s okay. Town isn’t too far from here, and I would hate to slow down your hunt,” Tifa forces another smile, “Best of luck, sir. And thank you for your service.” She adds, beginning to take a step away.

But the man steps forward. “Please, I insist, miss.” 

Tifa shakes her head, her hood falling to drop down onto her shoulders. “I’m fine, really.” She takes another step back. 

The man is striding forward now; his smile falters as one hand drops to his hip - to his sword, “Don’t be difficult-”

Tifa steps back farther, until she can hear the faint splash of water lap against her boot. “Stop - please- I don’t know anything, really!”

The man is close - too close. Her presses tighter against her wrist, ready to shoot out at a moment’s notice. Marlene. She has to get back to Marlene. If there’s one hunter here, maybe there’s another back at the cottage. He isn’t stopping. She can’t afford to fight. She has to go - _now_.

So Tifa turns and runs. 

“Bitch- don’t you dare-!” She hears the man hiss behind her as she whirls around and flies down the riverbank, gasping cold sharp breaths of air as she runs. Her lamp sways wildly from its hook on her staff. She clutches her basket tight, her feet carrying her into the safety of the dark woods.

She’s six - five - four paces away from the shadows when something slams into her leg. 

Pain erupts from her thigh. Tifa yelps in surprise, the force of the impact - whatever it was - catching her off balance. Her boots slip on damp pebbles and she’s sent careening forward. Her lamp smashes on impact, glass shattering as her basket crashes on the ground and spills Fairy Helmets across the rocks. 

Tifa recovers quickly though, rolling onto her knees and scrambling up onto her feet. Except her leg crumples beneath her before she can. Hissing, she looks down to see an arrow lodged deep into her outer thigh. Heat sinks into her skirts, a dark, sticky patch blooming across the fabric. 

“I told you it wasn’t going to work.” A woman’s voice this time, and more footsteps crunching closer. 

Tifa’s eyes dart up to see the man from before jogging up behind the woman, who is dressed in the same sort of attire, her own dark hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head. In her hand is a crossbow, which is locked and ready to go again. Biting back the pain, Tifa staggers up onto her feet. 

“Shut up,” the man mutters as he brushes past his partner, striding right up to Tifa and grabbing her by the front of her cloak. “We know you live with that creature-” there’s no pretense this time as he snarls into her face, “-so tell us where it is or you’ll be treated the same way as that thing.” 

“ _No._ ” Tifa doesn’t hesitate this time. Her hand flies up from beneath her cloak, dagger glinting in the moonlight as it arcs towards the man. 

“Shit-!” The man recoils, reaches out and grabs the dagger by its blade before it can lodge itself into his neck. The blade cuts into the flesh of his palm, but Tifa doesn’t wait to see what happens next. She lets go, takes advantage of her newfound freedom to grab the man by his arm with both hands. Tifa pivots sharply, ignoring her leg screeching in pain as she yanks his arm over her shoulder. With one great heave, she pulls - hears the crack of joints, the shout of surprise - as she tips forward and sends the man crashing onto the rocks below. 

Another arrow whizzes by, scrapes her cheek.

Tifa lets go and flees into the woods. Her dagger shoots up from the dirt and flies back into her hand. 

Behind her, she hears the woman shout. 

It’s hard to run like this. The arrow lodged in her leg jostles with each step. She’d bleed out even more if she pulls it out but all the movement was making the wound worse. So she reaches down and snaps the arrow’s shaft in half, slowing for only a few paces before continuing on again. She grits her teeth against the pain in her leg and the sharp bite of the cold with each rag of breath. 

Tifa runs, and runs - until her chest burns and she can taste rust at the back of her tongue. 

Only then does she slow, stumbling to a stop against a tree trunk, shouldering heavily against it. Gasping desperately, Tifa looks behind her. Her hair, which had been pulled into a braid over her shoulder, clings to the sweat and blood on her cheek, partially obstructing her vision. But there’s nothing behind her. Nothing but the dark and the quiet shift of leaves.

Still, there’s no time for relief. The hunters had been after Marlene, and had even known her by name. It won’t be long before they find the cottage; before they find _Marlene_. Tifa turns ahead, in the direction where she knows the cottage lies just beyond the woods. She can’t go back either. Can’t risk leading those hunters back home. Even so, she can’t rely on Jessie to protect Marlene - not like this. 

Her mind spins. There’s no way out. No solution. Her head is light; Tifa leans heavier against the tree. The only thing she can do is go back to the cottage, send Jessie home, find Marlene and run. And maybe...maybe they’ll be able to hide for a while. 

But first she has to get there. Has to get up, push off the tree, and keep moving.

Before she can though, something rustles behind her.

Tifa whirls around, staggering slightly from the force of her movement. Ahead of her, the bushes part and the man from before steps through. 

His smile is cruel, his sword clutched in one bloodied hand. “Found you.”

Tifa steps back, “I told you I don’t know anything! So just - just leave me alone.” 

“We know who you are.” He isn't stopping. The man steps closer towards her, his strides confident and wide as he lifts his sword and swats away a low hanging branch. “You’re that monster’s caretaker - there’s no point in lying. Just tell me where it is and I’ll let you go.” 

“No. _No_.” There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to go.

The man smiles wider. He says nothing more and charges. 

Tifa doesn’t get to breathe. His sword arcs over his head as he approaches. She jerks her dagger out in front of her - one hand gripping the handle, the other braced against the blade. Metal slams on metal - the recoil sends ripples of shock up her arms, ringing in her head. The sword is heavy as it presses against the thin blade of her dagger, which digs into her hand. 

Focusing her thoughts on his sword, she feels it shudder under the force of her will. Gritting her teeth, she shoves back as hard as she can. 

The rest passes in a blur.

The man is caught off-guard. His sword wrenches itself out his hands. Tifa launches herself at the man as his sword shoots off the side. She whips around, kicking out her good leg and digging it hard and deep into his side. She hears the air knock out of his lungs as he takes the hit and loses balance. Her body moves faster than she can think. She throws herself at him, tackling him to the ground. Tifa pulls her dagger back, the blade glinting as it arcs overhead then sinks - and sinks and _sinks_ \- into his neck, right up to the hilt. 

He cries out but the sound quickly reduces to gurgles. His hands grab wildly at her. He thrashes but Tifa hangs on, clinging onto the dagger, her whole weight pressing onto him. 

She doesn’t know how long she clutches her dagger before she feels his body go still. Doesn’t know how long it is before she opens her eyes and looks up - only to see the woman from before, standing at the edge of the small clearing in the woods, the whites of her eyes catching moonlight. 

“You-!” The woman screeches. The one syllable ringing with more fury than Tifa ever thought possible. The woman jerks her crossbow up. Tifa scrambles onto her feet. The crossbow clicks in place - it’s aimed at her head - her limbs are too heavy to move and then-

A dark thunk pierces the air. 

* * *

Ahead of him, the woman with the crossbow crumples onto the dirt, a borrowed axe lodged deep into the back of her head. 

Heavy breaths cloud thickly around his head. With nothing left between them, Cloud looks across and sees Tifa - blood stained, wild eyed, beautiful. 

He grits his teeth against the thought. He’s here for a reason - with a purpose, and now he intends to see it through before someone else steals his chance. It doesn’t matter what he feels; it doesn't matter if guilt and uncertainty and this powerful sense of _‘no don’t do it_ ’ still clings to the edges of his movement. He forces himself forward, forcing leaden legs to pump so he can dart across the clearing - so he can crouch, grab the dead man’s sword off the ground. Out the corner of his eye, he sees Tifa start, as though she’d had to shake off her shock. Either way, it gives him the opening he needs. 

Cloud runs at Tifa, ready to swing his sword at her - but he’s too slow and she’s too fast. She ducks away, moving to side step his charge. Desperate, he reaches out and grabs her by her cloak. She twists around in his grasp, hands flying up to grab his wrists but her legs give out beneath her before she can. Tifa falls and drags him down with her. They crash onto the forest floor. Tifa yelps in pain at impact; the sound makes something sharp dig into his heart - the same something that had compelled him earlier to throw his axe. 

This time, he fights the feeling.

This time, it’s _him_ that looms over her; it’s _his_ weight that pins her to the ground. 

She winces an eye open to look up at him. There’s pain and exhaustion and fear and shock in that single glance. 

That feeling rears again.

Cloud snatches the sword up. The grip is slick with foreign blood. He holds it tight anyways - rears back, the tip of the blade hovering over her neck.

“Don’t...” Her voice is so weak. 

That feeling claws at him. 

“Shut up,” he grits; the leather of his gloves creak from the force of his grip. Whether he’s talking to her or to himself, he doesn’t know, doesn’t care to know. Now or never. _No._ Now or never. _No._ He pulls the sword back and plunges it down. _No!_

“Cloud-!” 

The sword stops. The tip grazes her skin.

Her eyes are closed but there is no peace on her expression. He isn’t sure if he heard her or if he _heard_ her. All he knows is that he sees the glint of moisture at the corner of her eye, watches it as it trickles down over her temple. 

His heart rips itself apart.

With a shout, he flings the sword aside. It crashes into the bushes as the woods swallow up his cry. Cloud reaches his hand up, covers over his eyes as he grinds his teeth and clenches his fist. He hates - _hates -_ that the relief is driving him to near tears, that it’s so sharp and so strong and so much _more_ than his hatred for witches. He wants to shout again. Curse the gods or whatever powers have put him here, unable to kill the very thing that he’s sworn to kill. The very thing that had taken his parents, his home, his _life_ away from him.

But Cloud swallows it back and drops his hand away. It isn’t until he’s back up onto his feet and stepping away that he finally looks back down at her, unsurprised to find Tifa staring up at him with carmine eyes wide with uncertainty. Those _damn_ eyes of hers. He can see everything in them; mostly, he can see the obvious question that he can’t bring himself to answer. Instead, he looks away and glances pointedly at her leg where a broken arrow is still lodged into her thigh through her skirts. 

“...They were after Marlene, right?” He says, slowly dragging his eyes back to meet hers. 

Tifa only nods. 

“Can you walk?” 

Tifa doesn’t answer for a moment, only eyes him with more suspicion than before. Now, more than ever, he can’t blame her for it. He probably seems like a mad man in her eyes. After a second though, Tifa slowly sits herself up. Cloud watches silently as Tifa pushes herself up to her feet, but before she can straighten up properly, her injured leg half crumples beneath her. Immediately, his hands shoot out to catch her before she drops to the ground again.

She fights him for a second but the attempt is weak. She doesn’t manage to pull herself away even though he isn’t holding onto her that tightly. Tifa realizes it too. Her surrender is wordless as she leans her weight into him, but even then, she refuses to look him directly in the eye. Cloud hobbles her towards the closest tree and leans her against it. “Wait,” he says simply before letting go. He doesn't bother to see if she runs away. It’s not like she’ll be able to get very far on that leg anyway. So he doubles back quickly, digs around in the nearby brush for a moment to find the man’s sword and grabs it for himself. He puts that away into his sheath and then grabs the axe next, trying to not think too hard as he wipes the edge of it clean on the grass. 

He returns to find Tifa still leaning against the tree. Her eyes track his movement, but now there’s a newfound haziness to them that makes worry twinge in his chest. He doesn’t know how long she’d been fighting these two hunters before his arrival, but judging by the amount of blood soaking into her skirt, it must have been long enough that she’s really beginning to feel it now. When he’d gone to ask the villagers for directions to the river, they’d mentioned that two other hunters were in the area. With any luck, these were the _only_ two hunters they’d have to deal with for now. He’s no doctor, but it’s clear enough that Tifa is in desperate need of rest.

“Let me carry you,” he says as he holds a hand out to her, the other one still holding onto the axe.

Tifa shakes her head. 

“Let me help at least.”

Tifa considers him another moment before nodding reluctantly. Her movements are slow, and the hazy look in her eyes is persistent. Cloud doesn’t want to linger out here for longer than necessary, so he takes her hand and loops her arm around his shoulder. Tifa leans her weight against his side as she pushes off the tree. Once he has a good grip on her, they step back into the silent wood and towards the warm cottage that sits somewhere in its heart. Cloud makes a note to come back here himself later and do something about the bodies - it would only make the townsfolk suspect Marlene more if someone were to find the slain hunters. At least, if they just disappeared, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that there’d been a misunderstanding and that they’d simply left. 

It takes a second or two for him to orient himself towards the cottage. After all, he hadn’t been paying attention when he’d been chasing the hunters earlier, his only thought had been on Tifa and whether they’d led him to her. But the moon is high, and a glimpse of it through the barren branches overhead is enough to give him a sense of direction.

Cloud keeps a firm grip on Tifa with one hand while the other swats away stray branches that get in the way. They hobble along in silence, though with each step, he’s aware of Tifa leaning heavier and heavier into him. There’s still so much swirling in the muck of his mind that he doesn’t understand, but he knows this: Tifa isn’t leaning on him not because she wants to. 

“...Why?” 

For a second, he thinks he’d imagined her speaking. But as he blinks and glances down at her, Tifa continues on in a hushed voice even as her eyes remain doggedly fixed ahead of them, “Why didn’t you do it?” 

He turns ahead again. She doesn’t say the exact words but it’s pretty obvious what she means. And it’s a good enough question - one that he wishes he could answer for himself. “It felt...wrong,” he replied after a pause, “I wanted to. I know I was supposed to. But I just couldn’t. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, witch, but I’m sure you’re happy to see it working.” 

Tifa’s huff in response is as weak as it is dry, “I wish that this is because of something I did. It’d be a lot easier on me too.”

Not knowing what else to say, Cloud remains silent. He keeps his eyes ahead of them even though his attention is decidedly fixed on the witch leaning heavier against his side. 

“But I...have to thank you for saving me. And for not killing me.” 

Cloud’s grip on her shoulder tightens, “...Yeah,” he says, pausing a moment before continuing, “Marlene still needs you to hang in there a while longer.” 

Tifa’s laugh sounds almost a little delirious, “Only a while?” 

By now, he’s dragging her through the underbrush for all intents and purposes. Tifa is hardly putting one foot in front of the other, and he can even see the pallor of her skin despite the low light. He slows to a stop, though it doesn’t look like Tifa’s even notices. “You don’t look good,” he frowns as he considers her..

“Don’t feel...that great, honestly,” she mutters in response, tipping harder into him. 

Taking a breath, Cloud bends down a bit and finally scoops Tifa right up into his arms. She doesn’t protest as he settles an arm behind her knees while the other loops closer around her shoulder. Cloud shifts slightly, holding her closer against himself as he finds a more comfortable position while being mindful of the arrow still lodged in her leg. At least he’s gotten injured enough times himself to know it’s better to keep that thing in there for now. 

Tifa leans into him as he sets off. The situation is far from pleasant - she’s still bleeding out, and he still doesn’t know what awaits them at the cottage - but he notices it anyway, the way her weight in his arm steadies him and clears his head. 

Cloud pushes that thought aside to focus on something else instead. Like how he doesn’t like the way she’s limp in his arms and being so very quiet. “Hey,” he says, pausing a beat to duck under a low hanging branch, “I’m going to need you to tell me what to do about that leg of yours. Don’t pass out on me.” 

“It’s easy. Just gotta’...stop the bleeding...use the Saltblood Ivy salve...bandage and that’s it.” Weak. Too weak. His legs move quicker. 

“Tell me that when we get back to the cottage.” 

Tifa sighs heavily enough that he feels her shift against his chest but falls silent again. He gives her a squeeze, “Hey, Tifa. Stay with me.” Part of him is still equal parts shocked and disgusted at the words that are coming out of his mouth, that are directed at a witch. But right now, he focuses on the task at hand and tamps out that voice. It’s easier to ignore that one, than the one that had been screaming at him when he’d held a sword to her throat. 

“I guess we’re even now, huh?” She says finally after a little pause. 

“Only once you’re back up on your feet. Doesn’t count otherwise.” 

She chuckles quietly; the sound makes something in his chest warm despite the cold and despite the rather grim situation. He wonders if this is the first time he’s heard it before. But even when the thought crosses his mind, he knows it isn’t true. He’s heard her laugh in all its forms, just not... _here_. But that doesn’t count, does it? 

Tifa interrupts his thinking. “You know, when I found you...I saw a place with a metal sky - isn’t that funny? What sort of place...would have a metal sky?” 

At this point, he isn’t sure if it’s a good or bad thing that she’s talking about this. While it’s good to hear her speaking, maybe _this_ particular topic isn’t a great sign. “Yes,” he says anyways, moving faster still, “Me too.” 

If she hears him, she makes no indication. “And I had...a tavern. Maybe more than one? There was music and it was...so lovely.” 

Cloud squints as he looks ahead. Is that the faint glimmer of the cottage over there? It must be; nothing else could give off such a warm glow in the depths of a wood like this. 

“And there was...we had a promise too, right? You promised me something.” He feels his heart stop in his chest. Cloud glances down at her, but Tifa’s eyes are closed. He drags his eyes away to look ahead, at the silhouette of the cottage that he can see clearer now peeking through the trees. 

“Do you remember what the promise was?” He asks because the twist in his chest isn’t about to let him get away with _not_ asking. 

“...No.” 

Cloud finally breaks out from the tree line and finds himself back on the cleared path leading up the front of the cottage. He can see candlelight seeping from the front window, along with the shadow of a silhouette sitting beside it. He hopes that it’s just Jessie staying up and waiting for Tifa’s return, and not a third hunter that they hadn’t known about. Either way, the silhouette stands as they approach. All he can do is hurry and prepare for the worst. 

The door swings open and - thank the Gods - Jessie leans out with Marlene peeking out from behind her, clinging onto her skirts. 

Tifa stirs in his arms, “But I remember...we’ve always known each other, haven’t we? Even in that place...with the metal sky. We’ve always been...together.”

Cloud’s heart lurches in his chest. 

“What - What did you do to her?!” Jessie’s outraged voice cuts his thoughts. His eyes snap up to see her rushing over towards them while Marlene stays standing in the doorway, a horrified look on her small face. 

“I found her like this,” Cloud can’t help but snap in reply, giving Jessie a short look as he sidesteps her to continue striding back into the cottage, pausing only to drop Tifa’s axe on in the front yard and kicking it aside, “Those hunters mistook her for someone else.” 

“The hunters-?” 

Ahead of him, Marlene steps aside as he draws up to the door. Her eyes are wide as they meet his, but for how young she is, Cloud can’t quite figure out what it is that’s shining behind the look she’s turning up to him. An apology lodges itself in his throat, but he swallows it back down. Now isn’t the time for that. Tifa is still bleeding out and in need of help. So he steps past Marlene and glances around the cottage a moment, before crossing over towards the dining table. 

The bed in the corner is rumpled, as though someone had tried to go to sleep in it before giving up. The hearth glows lowly in the dark, a fire flickering in its depths and illuminating the otherwise dark cottage. Jessie follows in behind him, shutting the door as Cloud lays Tifa down on the table. Once she’s settled, he looks up to meet Jessie’s still suspicious gaze, “I’ll explain later. Right now, we need to help Tifa,” he says, doing his best to resist a sharp bite from seeping into his words.

Jessie glances between him and Tifa a moment, one hand clenched at her chest. Finally, she nods, “Okay. I'll get some cloths and water,” she says before hurrying off to grab exactly that from the kitchen. 

Meanwhile, Cloud unclasps Tifa’s cloak from where it’d been secured together at her collar. Pushing the heavy, dirtied fabric aside, he straightens up to consider the wound next. The arrow had lanced through her skirts and was lodged deep into her thigh now. Blood soaks the fabric where it’s pinned against the leg, but thick blooms trail down the rest of her skirt. Reaching up, he starts pushing her heavy, sodden skirts up and out of the way as best he can. “Do you know what Saltblood Ivy salve looks like?” He asks as he works, ignoring the way his gloves are beginning to get sticky with her blood. 

From over at the kitchen, Jessie is pumping water into a jug, “No - I don’t. Why?” 

“It’s for her leg, right?” Marlene’s voice freezes both the adults. Cloud turns to look at her from across the table. The young girl is grabbing tight fistfuls of her pajama dress, her eyes fixed on Tifa’s placid, pale expression. “It helps...helps with bleeding and makes things get better faster.” 

“Do you know where it is, Marlene?” Cloud asks, surprising himself by the softness in his voice.

Marlene’s eyes dart to him. This time, there’s so much distress in them that he feels his heart squeeze. She nods, then scampers off towards the wall of shelving and glass vials behind him. Cloud turns, watching as Marlene climbs up on to the counter top beneath the shelves and reaches up to grab a glass bottle of a now-familiar green paste. With that in one hand, the girl clambers off the counter and hurries back to the table, holding the bottle out to Cloud. 

“...Thanks,” he says as he takes the bottle from her. 

“Fix her, please, Cloud.” Marlene says smally. 

Cloud grips the bottle tighter and nods. 

Turning back, he sees Jessie hurrying to the table with a jug of water in one hand and a bundle of cloths in the other. Things move quickly after that. They remove the arrow from Tifa’s leg, both breathing sighs of relief when the entire arrow head dislodges from her thigh They stem the bleeding and stitch the wound shut before smearing a thick layer of the salve over the stitched line of skin. Once it looks like things have stabilized, Cloud steps back and lets Jessie finish with wiping Tifa clean and getting her changed into less soiled clothing. 

“There’s something I have to take care of,” he says as he wipes off the remaining blood from his gloves. 

“Where are you going?” Jessie asks from where she’d been wringing out a cloth at the sink. Marlene is still sitting at the table, cheek resting on arms that are crossed on the table top. The young girl’s eyes are still pinned to Tifa.

Cloud hesitates a moment, glancing at Marlene before looking back at Jessie, “The hunters thought that Marlene was a witch,” he explains, mostly because he knows that Jessie is bound to find out one way or the other, since it had seemed like the whole town had already known about this. “They thought Tifa was Marlene, but I made it in time to tell them they were mistaken. I have to talk to them still. Make sure that they don’t come back for anyone else.” For Marlene, specifically but he doesn’t say that.

Jessie looks uncertain, “Seriously?” She crosses back towards the table, unfurling the damp cloth in her hand, “I mean - I know Tifa and Marlene aren’t witches but...what makes you think they’ll listen to you just like that?” 

He shrugs, turning on his heel to cross over towards the front door. “Because I’m one of them.” Cloud opens up the front door and takes a deep breath first, before throwing a look back at Jessie from over his shoulder, “I’ll be back.” 

With that, he steps back out into the cold night and shuts the door behind him. _I’m one of them._ He almost wants to laugh. 

Some hunter he is. 

For now, Cloud pushes the thought aside and focuses on the work that has to be done. It takes him a while longer to find the bodies in the woods, and then a while longer still to pat them down and take what they have. Hopefully it’ll look like they’d gotten ambushed by bandits should anyone find them. But he hopes not. Even so, he drags them to the river and lets the dark waters carry them off somewhere that, with any luck, will be far, far away from here.

By time he finishes with washing the last stains of blood off himself, the moon is already beginning its downward plunge back to the horizon. He returns to find the cottage darkened. Moreover, an unfamiliar sense of relief threatens to lap at his chest as he approaches. When did the cottage become a place of refuge in his mind? He isn’t sure but as he walks up the path towards the front door, his thoughts are interrupted by the crack of twigs and a rustle in the bushes. 

Right away, he whirls around, his sword hissing against its scabbard as he draws it. His gaze darts around, but there’s nothing to see. Everything is dark and suddenly still again. Cloud holds his position a moment, waiting and listening for any other indication of movement but when nothing comes, he lets go of a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

Maybe just his imagination then. 

Putting his sword away, he turns and finishes stepping up to the cottage. Cloud throws one more wary glance around the building first before finally moving into the cottage proper.

Inside, all is dark and silent, save for the last remaining smolders of coal in the hearth. Jessie is sitting at the dining table, head resting on arms folded across the wooden surface.

Drawing up to the young woman, Cloud lifts a hand to squeeze her shoulder. Jessie rouses with a slight groan, but turns an exhausted, critical look to him when Cloud tells her that she can go back now, and that he will stay here to look after Tifa and Marlene. “Look, if I’d wanted to hurt Tifa, do you think I would have brought her back here?” He asks in a low, irritated voice - partly because he just wants Jessie to leave them already so he can rest, and partly because he knows Tifa’s said something similar to him before and he’s still miffed that she’d made such a good point.

Either way, Jessie eventually leaves, however reluctantly. He offers to walk her back home considering the time of night, but Jessie refuses and he isn’t about to insist anymore than what is necessary. So he watches her go from the front door before he shuts it and turns back to the silent cottage, the dark betraying a pained peace.

Slowly, he crosses the distance to where the singular bed is tucked into the far corner of the hall. Tifa is on her back, her expression too still to be one of proper sleep. Beside her, Marlene’s forehead rests against Tifa’s shoulder while one small hand drapes over her collar. The young girl is asleep, but even he can see the exhaustion on her face. 

Cloud doesn’t let himself linger for long. Reaching up, he takes the edges of the quilt and pulls it closer over the two sleeping figures. Then, he leaves them, returning to the bench by the front door that had served as his bed for the past two or so weeks now. He sheds his jacket and his gloves, leans the borrowed sword against the seat. Then he sits sideways on the bench, one arm resting on the back as he stares out the window overlooking the front yard. Pools of moonlight dapple the path; some of it dabbling in his hair. 

He watches and he watches.

The witch hunter who can’t kill a witch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed that, feel free to[ say 'hi' on my twitter!](https://twitter.com/ourladymuffin) I post status updates, nerd out about stuff, and will occasionally upload snippets there too! :)
> 
> I'm not sure I'll be able to get a chapter out by next month. Law school's been absolutely kicking my ass lately and I'm really pressed for time (and energy lol). Plus holiday season coming up and all...it'll be busy, busy, busy. I will try my best but thank you for your patience! 💕


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